JCHN JORDAN DOUmA^ 
 
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 oftte 
 
 ®[mljers(itj> of iSottI) Carolina 
 
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•Jeriime sprani: ijuickly foward" 
 
 Frontispiece) 
 
The Girdle of the Great 
 
 A Story of the New South 
 
 By 
 
 JOHN JORDAN DOUGLASS 
 
 % 
 
 BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO, 
 835 BROADWAY, NEW YORK 
 
Copyright. 1908. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN JORDAN DOUGLASS 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
To Annie Rumley, 
 
 my little daughter, 
 
 who left us, zvith 
 
 the fall of leaves, 
 
 in the golden Autumn. 
 
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 00 
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CONTENTS* 
 
 CHAPTER I. PAGE. 
 A Youthful Orator 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 Braided Cords 7 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 A Bit of Southern Chivalry 13 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 The Picnic 18 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 A Blow in the Dark 23 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 An Urgent Call 32 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 Some Surprises 43 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 The Keen Edge of Disappointment 51 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 The Irony of Fate 55 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 The White Visitor 61 
 
li Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. PAGE. 
 An Appeal to the Primitive 67 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 The Foreclosure of the Mortgage 75 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 The New Woman and the New Man 81 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Revelations at Riverwood 88 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 An Exceeding High Mountain 101 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 A Disturbed Doctor HI 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 The Silent Struggle 119 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 The Meeting in the Turpentine Orchard 127 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 The Mettle of a Man 135 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 The Coming of the College President 143 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 Major Graves Goes South 151 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 The Parting of the Ways 162 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 The Coils of Commercialism 169 
 
Contents. iu 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. page 
 
 The Mania of the Mob 174 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 "The Mills of the Gods" 183 
 
 Epilogue 193 
 
THE GIRDLE OF THE fiREAT 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A YOUTHFUL ORATOR. 
 
 In the heart of a great Southern plantation, 
 on a hill overlooking the golden waters of the 
 Pee Dee, guarded by gigantic oaks, and begirt 
 with rose-bushes and noney-suckles, stood some 
 years ago a stately whit^and-green house. Its 
 broad verandas, massive Auted columns and airy 
 rooms all marked it an ante-bellum mansion. 
 
 A certain bright April day, quivering in the 
 violet veil of the dawn, suddenly sent a stream 
 of soft, silvery light through the wide east win- 
 dows. Without, in highway, byway, orchard 
 and open, numerous feathered songsters trilled 
 and piped a merry matinee. The smell of new- 
 turned earth and bursting blossom, mingled with 
 the delicate and delightful aroma of long-leaf 
 pines, was in the air. Along the broad river 
 meadows ragged gray wisps of mist rose, and, 
 curling smoke-like toward the turquoise sky, left 
 for the gaze a splendid stretch of dew-washed 
 emerald, flecked here and there with snowy 
 sheep. 
 
2 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 As if to drink the wine of beauty from the 
 chalice of the morning, a tall, spare-built, dark- 
 eyed, dark-haired youth hurried down the man- 
 sion steps, and entered a road, which led through 
 the plantation to the river. His brisk, elastic step 
 betrayed a rich fund of nervous energy, as did 
 also the rather restless — though altogether de- 
 termined — expression of his thin, tanned face. 
 His Indian-like cheek-bones, prominent nose and 
 square Scotch chin conspired to impose an in- 
 superable barrier to his admission within the 
 charmed circle of "Masculine Beauties." But in 
 the breadth of his forehead, in the beam of his 
 bright eyes, no less than in the quiet strength of 
 his firmly moulded mouth, were written tnastery 
 and living fire. In fact, Jerome Watkins' ex- 
 traordinary character had early won for him, in 
 the Pee Dee country, the sobriquet of "Steady 
 Romey." (And, if it is not too painful to the 
 memory of one rollicking rustic, it might be deli- 
 cately added that a neighbor who once unwit- 
 tingly placed a bare No. lo foot on a yellow- 
 jacket's nest, remarked afterwards that "the 
 durned, pesky little critters wuz blamed nigh ez 
 busy as Romey Watkins.") 
 
 There was an unwonted seriousness in the 
 youth's face as he continued his course toward 
 the river. He seemed almost oblivious of his 
 surroundings. The brimming melody of the 
 morning failed to arouse the ardor of his spirits. 
 He knit his brows and passed his hand across his 
 forehead in a manner which bespoke a struggle 
 with perplexing problems, or a frantic mental- 
 clutching at the coat-tails of a fleeting idea. The 
 
The Girdle of the Great 3 
 
 profligate spender of life would have marveled 
 that one so youthful — indeed, he was scarcely 
 one - and - twenty — should harbor a serious 
 thought. Nevertheless, it was true; Jerome was 
 troubled. He could draw near enough to a cer- 
 tain coveted goal, only to realize that, like the 
 pot of gold at the foot of the rainbow in the 
 story-books, it was just beyond his grasp. 
 
 Suddenly the tense muscles of his face re- 
 laxed. Snatching off his broad-brimmed pal- 
 metto hat, he sent it spinning upward. "Whoop- 
 ee, that'll do 'em!" he cried ecstatically. 
 
 Finally he reached a spot on the river bank 
 marked by a clumi.. of willows and a huge boul- 
 der of red sandstone. At no great distance an 
 old negro was industriously plowing a mule. 
 Assuring himself that there were no other audi- 
 tors, Jerome mounted the rock and began a 
 speech on the "Neiv South." 
 
 He vociferously recited facts which, though 
 often crudely expressed, bespoke unusual reach 
 and research for a country youth just entering 
 his majority. 
 
 "Slavery," he declared, speaking of the old 
 regime then twenty odd years past, "had more 
 power to harm the white man than to harm the 
 negro. The former had everything in the gift 
 of a great nation to gain by individual effort, the 
 latter nothing; the former faced a golden fu- 
 ture, the latter an unwritten page. 
 
 "Under slavery, there could have come to the 
 white man no great mental impetus — no incen- 
 tive to keep pace with the stride of a strenuous 
 civilization. The proclamation which freed the 
 
4 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 slaves struck the shackles from thousands of poor 
 white men, bearing the brand of hirelings, giv- 
 ing them an equal chance with the former slave- 
 owners." 
 
 The speaker affirmed that the overshadowing 
 present-day problem of the South did not then 
 present, and never had presented, difficulty as to 
 former slaves; that the burden of crime in the 
 Black Belt rested not upon them, but upon a 
 post-bellum generation, with whom education was 
 a string of beads and religion a fetich; who left 
 the farms to infest towns and cities like insects 
 lured by the light of a candle, Yet, the youthful 
 orator believed a better and brighter day would 
 dawn. This great and grievous problem would 
 eventually find its solution in a proper moral, re- 
 ligious and industrial training of the negro race 
 — in an education which taught the black man to 
 recognize and respect rather than to recklessly 
 disregard the limitations placed upon him by na- 
 ture. 
 
 This speech was brought to sudden close by a 
 loud splash in the water nearby. Jerome quickly 
 glanced around to discover the cause of the com- 
 motion. 
 
 It was highly important that he should not be 
 overheard by some parties. Perceiving a great, 
 green-mottled bullfrog seated nearby, he con- 
 cluded that the commotion had been created by a 
 nervous member of that raucous tribe. 
 
 Nevertheless, he decided to discontinue his 
 speech. 
 
 Entering the plot where the old neg^ was 
 
The Girdle of the Great 5 
 
 plowing, he cried: "What were you throwin' at. 
 Uncle Sam?" 
 
 "Frowin' at?" queried the old negro, giving 
 the mule a peremptory jerk. "I ain't bin frowin' 
 at nuffin', 'cept cusses at dis debblish an' decebin' 
 mule. Whatcher mean, Marse Romey?" 
 
 "Oh, nothin' — did you hear me speakin'?" 
 asked the youth, dropping with evident relief his 
 oratorical "ings." 
 
 "Co'se I did, chile, co'se I did, w'en you wuz er 
 floppin' erroun' in yo' gwineson lak er bullfrog 
 wid de broivn-skeeters^' — des erbusin' an' er run- 
 nin' 
 down an' er scan'lizin' po' ole hones' niggers." ■ 
 
 "I haven't been doin' that, Uncle Sam," replied 
 the young man, a fond light in his dark eyes ; "I 
 think too much of you for that; we have a De- 
 batin' Society up at the Academy, and a gold 
 medal is to be awarded to the boy who makes the 
 best speech Commencement night. Your race is 
 to be the subject of the Debate. I will say that 
 you can be made better by religion, and that mil- 
 lions of " 
 
 "Dat's de truf— dat's de Gawd's truf— Marse 
 Romey," ejaculated the old man, with a grin 
 which set his teeth a-gleam like white seed in a 
 red-meat watermelon, "des tek de Mefodis' praar- 
 book in one han' an' er watermillion un'er de t'er 
 arm, an' you kin led dis heah nigger clean ter de 
 deb— I means ter de pearly gates, Marse Romey," 
 he corrected quickly — "Wha! wha! wha!" With 
 that the old man resumed the burden and the 
 
 ♦Bronchitis, 
 
6 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 mule, leaving Jerome fairly bent double with 
 laughter. 
 
 "Don't mention what I've said to a livin' soul, 
 Uncle Sam," said Jerome earnestly when the old 
 negro had returned to the end of the row, "spe- 
 cially to Gabe Allen ; he's on the other side." 
 
 "You knows I woan', you knows I woan', 
 honey," came the ready though somewhat pride- 
 injured response. (He had ever been a stickler 
 for the family fidelity.) "Ole Sam ain't gwine 
 ter gib you erway, dat he ain't." 
 
 Then, well pleased with his progress, and con- 
 fident that his secret would be secure — even if old 
 Sam knew enough to be communicative — Jerome 
 returned home, whistling merrily. The shining 
 mark, toward which he had been steadily press- 
 ing since the fall opening of the "Pee Dee Acad- 
 emy," seemed nearer than ever. It was an honor 
 worth striving for ; and, moreover, it meant to 
 the winner a scholarship at "Forest College." 
 
 Now, though at one time accounted the wealthi - 
 est planter along the Pee Dee, certain financial 
 embarrassments had prevented Col. Watkins from 
 giving Jerome the advantage of a college educa- 
 tion. Above all things (even above the ambrosial 
 cup of artful Cupid) Jerome thirsted for the 
 sparkling waters of the Empyrean Spring. But, 
 according to ancient proverb, "There's many a 
 slip 'twixt the cup and the lip." 
 
The Girdle of the Great 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 BRAIDED CORDS. 
 
 Commencement Day had arrived. The seating 
 capacity of the Academy being insufficient, a 
 great bush-arbor had been erected adjoining the 
 front entrance. Rude slabs served for seats; a 
 layer of sawdust for flooring. 
 
 On every hand rose the "stands" of the inevita- 
 ble and indispensable lemonade-vendors. 
 
 Suddenly a reverential "sh-h" rippled over the 
 audience, and Mr. MacDonald, the orator of the 
 day, and President of the bank at Ansonville, a 
 town about five miles distant, arose, cleared his 
 throat, and, adjusting his glasses, announced as 
 his theme, "Our Commercial Opportunitv." 
 
 Jerome was seated with his parents 'and two 
 younger brothers near the center of the audience. 
 His attention was instantly riveted, not — strange 
 to say— upon the speaker, but upon a beautiful 
 blonde maiden, who had been partially concealed 
 behind the speaker's back. Her exquisitely- 
 molded oval face seemed to the youth a perfect 
 model of feminine sweetness and strength. Dark- 
 blue eyes, with a bewitching, fascinating expres- 
 sion, instantly melted their way into his heart— 
 smce, at one-and-twenty, hearts are seldom ossi- 
 
8 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 fied. He eventually found himself almost unable 
 to divert his attention from her. 
 
 The speaker's sturdy logic about the climatic 
 advantages, the water-power, the mineral re- 
 sources of the South marched forth slowly and 
 steadily — an infantry of cold facts, well groomed, 
 mailed and armored — but Jerome heard not. A 
 strange ecstacy thrilled him. He began to dream 
 indefinite and indefinable dreams. The glittering 
 gold, which had for months exclusively held his 
 attention, faded into floating fairy visions. He 
 had felt the touch of the master-passion. Thence- 
 forth his path was to lead beside love-lit waters, 
 through primroses and pansies, along the crest of 
 hills wound with trailing-arbutus and wreathed 
 in golden mist. 
 
 He was so lost in fancy that he started vio- 
 lently at the hearty applause which greeted the 
 close of the banker's address. 
 
 "Why, what ails you. Romey?" exclaimed Col. 
 Watkins, glancing quickly around. "What made 
 you jump so?" 
 
 "He's been thinking about the debate; but he'll 
 be all right when the time comes — and win the 
 medal, too," interjxiscd the mother, with an en- 
 couraging smile. 
 
 Jerome refrained from speech. Though natu- 
 rally quick to detect and correct mistakes, he was 
 quite willing to accept the friendly shelter of this 
 one. 
 
 His youngest brother. Walter, however, who 
 had been furtively watching him, was not to be 
 so easily satisfied. Before the mother could in- 
 
The Girdle of the Great 9 
 
 terfere, he pointed to the rostrum and blurted 
 out in a loud tone: "No, he ain't either; I seen 
 
 him lookin' sweet at that purty gal! I — I " 
 
 The mother silenced the obstreperous youngster 
 with a frown. Nevertheless, a titter, begun in 
 the vV^atkins' vicinity, went, as usual, the rounds 
 of the audience. The girl in question, who had 
 chanced to be looking toward Jerome, blushed 
 crimson, while his face went — if possible — a 
 shade beyond. 
 
 Presently, in the confusion and commingling 
 of the departing crowd, Jerome found himself 
 near her. In a moment the banker, recognizing 
 the son of an old patron, had presented Jerome 
 to Miss Maxine MacDonald. 
 
 Jerome heard the announcement that she 
 would visit Marjoric Allen with a sharp pang of 
 disappointment; and remembered only, as they 
 passed on, that the girl's wonderful blue eyes had 
 looked into his with a sweet, half-startled expres- 
 sion, and that a wave of rich color had flooded 
 her fair cheeks. 
 
 He found it extremely difficult — well-nigh im- 
 possible — that afternoon to confine his thoughts 
 to the query of the coming debate, especially 
 since he frequently saw Gabriel Allen and the 
 banker's niece together. 
 
 ♦ *♦**♦♦ 
 
 The president of the Debate had rapped for 
 order. The judges of the contest, including Air. 
 MacDonald, had taken their places. When quiet 
 was obtained, the secretary rose and read the 
 query, "Resolved, that the' Emancipation of the 
 negro has been injurious to the South," and an- 
 
10 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 nounced the first speaker on the affirmative. Then 
 Gabriel Allen, tall, heavily built and handsome, 
 rose amid a hearty round of applause. His fair, 
 smooth face was flushed with anticipated suc- 
 cess; a gleam of victory shone in his blue eyes. 
 He began, in a melifluent, well-modulated tone, 
 to review the causes which led up to the Emanci- 
 pation of the Negro. Then little by little, with 
 the soft, confidential strides of the tiger, he ap- 
 proached Jerome's speech, till suddenly he 
 sprang upon it and punctured it with the sharp 
 teeth of stinging satire. 
 
 Jerome's face went white as death. He leaned 
 far over, a startled, mystified expression in his 
 dark eyes. Had old Sam betrayed him? H not, 
 by some machiavellian art or instinct, Gabe Al- 
 len was making his speech — and making it ridic- 
 ulous before the one to whom, above all others, 
 he wished for some reason to present a fine ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 "He will tell you," continued the speaker, 
 "that the negro can, by morality and religion, 
 be made a better citizen ; but I know and you 
 know and everybody knows that more stealing 
 is done during a negro camp-meeting than at any 
 other time (laughter and great applause), and 
 that the biggest shouters are the biggest stealers. 
 
 "Give us the good old ante-bellum days," he 
 concluded, "with the niggers happier, healthier 
 and less criminal ; but the Lord deliver us from 
 a New South with an old sore." 
 
 He resumed his seat amid thunderous ap- 
 plause. Then the band struck up "Dixie," and 
 the crowd went wild. 
 
The Girdle of the Great ii 
 
 Jerome, gazing out into the swirling sea of 
 faces, caught at last the reflected gleam of tri- 
 umph in Maxine MacDonald's face. He stag- 
 gered blindly to his feet in response to the call 
 for the negative. The lights flickered ; the audi- 
 ence swam before him. He tried to speak, but 
 his memory suddenly went hopelessly blank. 
 Dazed and bewildered, he sank into his seat amid 
 pamful silence. The speeches following were 
 colorless and inanimate. Owing to Jerome's fail- 
 ure, there were no rejoinders. 
 
 The judges went out for consultation and soon 
 returned. There was a moment of tense silence • 
 then Mr. MacDonald, in a few appropriate 
 words, presented the medal to Gabriel Allen 
 Jerome sat there with bowed head and broken 
 heart. It was the one decided failure— the mini- 
 ature crisis-of his life. The fact that he had 
 been defeated unfairly was no recompense; the 
 audience did not know that. 
 
 When relatives and admiring friends, includ- 
 mg the beautiful Maxine MacDonald, came to 
 congratulate Gabriel, Jerome crept unobserved 
 through a merciful side-door, and, staggering 
 weakly out to his father's carriage, leaned for 
 support upon a wheel. The braided cords of de- 
 feat smote to the quick of his soul. A bitter sob 
 shook his frame. "Oh, God," he cried, "why did 
 I fail, why ?" -^ 
 
 There was a sudden rustling movement in the 
 rear, and he turned quickly to enter the arms of 
 his mother, who had followed him. 
 
 "My precious boy," she said softly, pressing 
 him to her bosom as she had done in the olden 
 
12 
 
 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 days. "You won't always fail — you will yet 
 make your mark; I believe in you. There is in 
 you the making of a man." 
 
 He started to reply, but at the moment an ap- 
 proaching foot- fall arrested his attention. His 
 father was near at hand, and the boy knew him 
 too well to offer any explanation. The Colonel's 
 motto was "Excelsior" 
 
The Girdle of the Great 13 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A BIT OF SOUTHERN CHIVALRY. 
 
 It is needless to relate that Jerome spent a 
 sleepless night. His brain was in a whirl. Chill- 
 ing sensations swept over him. Despite every 
 effort to hate her, he could not shake off his 
 strange infatuation for Maxine MacDonald. It 
 held him with an iron grip — and yet with a link 
 of gold. 
 
 Bright and early he crept from his room and 
 sought the spot where he had practiced for the 
 debate. As he was passing the little cabin, a 
 short distance below the house, a familiar voice 
 called out : "Lors-a-massy, is dat you, Marse Ro- 
 mey, gwine a-fishin' in de cool uv de mawnin' ?" 
 
 "No, not for suckers," cried the youth, quick- 
 ening his pace, without looking back at the black 
 face framed in the cabin window. 
 
 "Fer cats den, Marse Romey?" 
 
 "Yes, for black cats that scratch their friends," 
 retorted Jerome, turning angrily to confront the 
 negro. "Why did you tell Gabe Allen about my 
 speech? I lost the medal." 
 
 The old negro's countenance fell beneath the 
 sudden weight of surprise, and he leaned far 
 over with his elbows upon the narrow window- 
 sill, in an attitude of utter pain. 
 
14 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 "Fo' Gawd, I ain't tol' him nuffin', Marse Ro- 
 mey,'' he exclaimed, brokenly. 
 
 "Well, come and go with me then ; maybe you 
 didn't," said Jerome, relenting. (The negro in- 
 stantly obeyed.) "But there's some mystery 
 here." 
 
 "Dat I didn't, kase I lubs vou mos' lak I do 
 dem dar niggers," the old man continued, with 
 a toss of his head toward two ebony-hued boys 
 sitting in the doorway. Jerome could not re- 
 press a smile at the ludicrou,N but innocent com- 
 parison in which the old negro classed him with 
 BUI and Ben. 
 
 When they reached the desired spot, Jerome 
 revealed his purpose. They accordingly climbed 
 down to the river-edge of the great rock, 
 screened from land-view by a thick cluster of 
 reeds, and began their search. At first it seemed 
 destined to prove fruitless ; there was no evidence 
 of espionage. Finally Jerome turned to leave. 
 He had almost cleared the rock, when he noticed 
 that a fragment, where it was seamed and 
 cracked, had been recently broken oflf. Stooping 
 to examine this more closely, he caught from be- 
 low at the left base of the reeds a swift flash of 
 something white. Bending over, he was startled 
 to behold that it was an envelope thus inscribed: 
 "Miss Maxine MacDonald " 
 
 The town and state were so blurred by a re- 
 cent rain that he could not decipher them. Je- 
 rome hastily picked up the envelope and thrust 
 it in his pocket, saying nothing to old Sam, who 
 was now some distance away. 
 
 Suddenly the sound of voices and the rhythmic 
 
The Girdle of the Great 15 
 
 plash of paddles broke on the air. They came 
 nearer and nearer. Then, as a boat rounded a 
 bend in the river and swept in sight, Jerome re- 
 treated behind the reeds, and motioned to the 
 negro to remain quiet. 
 
 In a few moments the voices could be plainly 
 distinguished. 
 
 "That is the place — yonder where the big rock 
 juts out into the water. I was fishing. Maybe I 
 lost it there!" "At any rate," continued the 
 speaker, "it contained a photograph and a 
 prophecy that came true — that I'd win the De- 
 bater's medal." 
 
 "So I see that a prophet is honored in his own 
 country." "And, by the way," continued the 
 feminine voice, "I was so sorry for the young 
 man who failed; he has such a fine face; he 
 must be intelligent." 
 
 "Humph! he has a poor way of showing it," 
 exclaimed her companion in a tone of irritation. 
 
 By this time the keel of the boat had grated 
 on the rock, and, throwing the anchor-chain 
 around a projecting staub, Gabriel Allen — for it 
 was he — leaped ashore. "I'll be back in a mo- 
 ment," he called to his companion. 
 
 "I hope you will find it," she replied, as she 
 playfully ran her fingers through the water on 
 either side of the boat. 
 
 Suddenly, before Jerome could interfere, old 
 Sam rushed forward and confronted Gabriel, 
 crying, with all the family pride of the ante- 
 bellum attache ringing in his voice : 
 
 "Git off'n dis heah plantashun; git ofT'n de 
 Kun'el's Ian', rite heah whar you dun stol' Marse 
 
i6 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 Romey's speech! Whatcher doin' on dis side uv 
 de rib " 
 
 "Shut up, you black scoundrel, or I'll make you 
 shut up!" cried Gabriel, purple with passion. He 
 clenched his fist and glared savagely at the old 
 negro. 
 
 "Dat I woan — dat I woan on de Kun'el's " 
 
 "Then take that, you kinky headed imp !" Ga- 
 briel leaped forward to strike the old negro a 
 terrific blow in the face, but in a twinkling Je- 
 rome VVatkins rushed between, catching the full 
 force of the blow on his chest. A moment later 
 he had rebounded, and, despite every effort at 
 resistance, forced Gabriel slowly backward till he 
 stood on the very brink of the river. There 
 Jerome held him firmly as a vise. "You should 
 remember," he gasped with suppressed anger, 
 "to respect the presence of a woman and age, 
 even in a nigger. "As to your stealin' my 
 speech " 
 
 "You lie!" cried Gabriel, struggling vainly 
 to break the grasp of his assailant. 
 
 "Hush!" thundered Jerome, stifling a strong 
 impulse to strike ; "you shall not speak thus be- 
 fore her — go your way." "And go it quickly," 
 he added, releasing him. 
 
 "Great talk for my father's hirelings," sneered 
 Gabriel, as he turned av/ay. (It was a reference 
 to the mortgage which Dr. Allen held on River- 
 wood.) Jerome's eyes flashed and his temples 
 swelled with rage. Only by dint of desperate ef- 
 fort he controlled himself. "Go," he gasped — 
 "or I'll thrash you within an inch of your life. 
 Go ! I say." 
 
You lie !' cried Gabriel." 
 
 Faciiii; f'ijgc Id 
 
The Girdle of the Great 17 
 
 And Gabriel stood not on the order of his go- 
 ing, but quickly entered the boat, where Maxine 
 sat, pale and ill at ease. 
 
 Before the boat could be pushed off, however, 
 Jerome stepped forward and gracefully tossed 
 the letter into Maxine's lap. "That's for you, 
 Miss MacDonald," he said in a voice still tremu- 
 lous with passion. 
 
 "Thanks," she replied, with a smile which sent 
 his heart to his mouth. 
 
 He watched them till they disappeared behind 
 the "Big Bend," then, calling old Sam, he went 
 slowly homeward with conflicting emotions stir- 
 ring in the great deep of his .soul. 
 
i8 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE PICNIC. 
 
 For many years it had been customary to hold 
 at Murray's Mill, on a tributary of the Pee Dee, 
 an annual picnic. To this well-watered and well- 
 shaded spot the folk of the neighborhood, old and 
 young, were wont to assemble to listen to open- 
 air speeches and to make bounteous noonday 
 "spreads." So accordingly every vehicle which 
 entered the great oak grove contained, some- 
 where, a brimming basket, or mayhap a small 
 clay-bank-colored trunk securely strapped on be- 
 hind. 
 
 Hither, in the early morning of a delightful 
 June day, rode Jerome Watkins. The birds 
 chirped sweetly in every leafy avenue; soft, sil- 
 very ripples lay upon the pond, where a thousand 
 water-lilies drooped their glistening heads. In 
 truth, everything accorded with the youth's spir- 
 its. He was to see Maxine this day — to be near 
 her — to listen to the dreamy melody of her voice. 
 
 Eagerly he watched every incoming buggy and 
 carriage. Many times he turned away a dis- 
 appointed face. "Surely, she will come," he said 
 aloud, "if only Gabe Allen wouldn't monopolize 
 her time. He always has the advantage." 
 
The Girdle of the Great '19 
 
 The words were scarcely out of his mouth 
 when, as if to confirm them, a shining, new top- 
 bugg-y dashed up; and, haughtily throwing his 
 lines to a nearby negro, Gabriel leaped out to as- 
 sist Maxine to alight. Though Jerome had ex- 
 pected them to come together, rather than in the 
 family carriage, his heart sank at the sight. He 
 had tried to make an engagement with Maxine 
 for the occasion. 
 
 A dark frown gathered on Gabriel's brow 
 when he saw Jerome, but Maxine smiled pleas- 
 antly in recognition. Gabriel's sharp eyes noted 
 her ill-concealed delight. Following this, nothing 
 worth relating occurred till the hour for the ad- 
 dress was at hand. Then people began to ex- 
 press anxiety about the non-appearance of the 
 speaker. Several minutes passed, and still he 
 had not come. Finally it became evident that he 
 would not arrive in time. Some of the leading 
 (■•lanters soon began to cast about for a substitute 
 (for "Tar-heels" — even those who snore rau- 
 cously through a sermon — have a decided wake- 
 fulness for "stump-speeches"). Suddenly one 
 or two voices shouted : "Allen ! Allen ! Gabriel 
 Allen !" There was no response ; then the call 
 became clamorous and imperative. This was 
 what Gabriel had been waiting for. With a pom- 
 pous stride he mounted the rostrum. The medal, 
 dangling at the end of his watch-chain, caught 
 midway a straggling ray of light and threw a 
 golden gleam far out into the impromptu audi- 
 ence ; in his eyes there lurked a greenish gleam. 
 
 "Ladies and Gentlemen," he said, "I thank you 
 for your kindness, but I cannot make you a 
 
20 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 speech. I shall, however, take the liberty of in- 
 troducing to you that peerless, silver-tongued 
 orator of the Pee Dee, Mr. Jerome Watkins." 
 
 It was a cruel, heartless thrust — one worthy of 
 Gabriel Allen — meriting only the rebuke of si- 
 lence which it received. Col. Watkins, who was 
 standing nearby, bit fiercely at his short, gray 
 moustache, and, involuntarily, his hand fell to 
 his hip, as it had done in the palmy, chivalric 
 days of the old regime; but, with an effort, he 
 controlled himself. Maxine MacDonald's eyes 
 flashed, her face went crimson, and she used her 
 fan vigorously for a moment. Jerome, upon 
 whom all eyes were now centered, swallowed 
 hard ; his thin face waxed white as death. Then 
 his dark eyes glowed ; his strong mouth hardened 
 like granite; and, with resolution written in every 
 stride, he mounted the platform amid thunder- 
 ous applause. 
 
 In a quavering, hesitating voice he thanked 
 Gabriel Allen for the honor of the introduction 
 and the audience for the evidences of pleasure at 
 his appearance. Then, as he continued, his voice 
 become clear and strong, silvery and full of pas- 
 sion, till the audience swayed to and fro beneath 
 its hypnotic power like reeds before the cross-cur- 
 rents of a summer gale. Gabriel Allen shrank 
 into the remotest corner of the crowd; Maxine 
 MacDonald's face shone with unconscious joy. 
 The youthful speaker, to the infinite surprise of 
 all, strongly summed up the advantages of the 
 New South, but declared that the new was the 
 outgrowth and transformation of the old; that 
 all the better elements of the old had been care- 
 
The Girdle of the Great 21 
 
 fully conserved in the nezv, becoming its very 
 salt of savour; that the blood of the fathers in 
 the veins of the sons was the elixir of Hfe to the 
 New South. Once he hesitated, as if about to 
 cease, but the crowd shouted, "Go on ! go on 1" 
 
 When he finally stopped, he was not suffered 
 to descend to the ground, but was borne off on 
 the shoulders of enthusiastic admirers. 
 
 His triumph was complete. Gabriel Allen had 
 been beaten at his own game. 
 
 Later, when Maxine came to offer her con- 
 gratulations, Jerome found courage to ask her to 
 go rowing with him, and she broke an all-day 
 engagement with Gabriel to accept the invitation. 
 As the boat drifted idly here and there among 
 the clustering pond-lilies, Jerome confided to her 
 his cherished dreams. But when he came to the 
 Debate his voice sank. That was the precipice — 
 the pit — into which his recent triumph had 
 scarcely thrown more than a ray of light. 
 
 "Don't despair," she said. **You have great 
 talent; you will succeed if " 
 
 "If you will love me. Miss Maxine!" he broke 
 in with a sudden influx of courage. A light of 
 tenderness glowed in his dark eyes like silvery 
 moonbeams in murky waters. 
 
 "Why, what do you mean?" she asked. "You 
 are so sudden — so startling." Her fair cheeks 
 colored crimson as clustering cherries. 
 
 "I mean what I say, Maxine," he breathed 
 softly. "I love you — I love you — the moment I 
 laid eyes on you Commencement day I loved you. 
 You helped me to fail then, now help me to suc- 
 ceed. Will you — can you — return my love?" 
 
22 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 The question quivered with a flood of passion. 
 He bent over as if to receive her answer in his 
 arms, but something in her face checked him. 
 
 "One oi your talent should have a college edu- 
 cation," she said, with a pathetic little effort to 
 change the subject, "you shouldn't " 
 
 "Must one go to college to learn to love, Max- 
 ine?" he broke in hoarsely. The boat was drift- 
 ing now ; in a moment it entered a little eddy and 
 whirled slowly toward the shore. "Won't you 
 love me, Maxine ?" he pleaded. 
 
 "Why, I — I never thought of — of you asking 
 me that," she faltered. "We have known each 
 other such a short while; and Marjorie loves — " 
 
 "Well, what difference does that make?" he in- 
 terrupted. "I have known Marjorie for years, 
 and yet I do not love her." There was native 
 honesty rather than unfeeling cruelty in his low 
 tones. "I loved you at first sight." 
 
 "But you said that a collegiate education was 
 your great aim and ambition. Education is the 
 Girdle of the Great; you must have it. Too many 
 in our Southland esteem it but a fool's bauble. 
 Even if I loved you I could not mar your splendid 
 future." 
 
 Jerome felt the fountain of hope wither within 
 his heart. 
 
 "Then you cast me off?" he said bitterly, with 
 a dead white despair in his face— for all time. 
 
 "No, till educationally you are my superior." 
 
 "Then I shall be," he said with a steel-strong 
 look about the mouth, "if I must walk through 
 thorns and fire." 
 
The Girdle of the Great 23 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A BLOW IN THE DARK. 
 
 On landing, they found the picnic party, includ- 
 ing Gabriel Allen, gone. Jerome did not regret 
 their departure. But Maxine twisted her red 
 lips into a rueful, though not unbecoming, pout 
 when she noted the absence of her erstwhile es- 
 cort. In fact, one would have supposed from 
 her displeased demeanor that the grievance was 
 wholly on her side. This, however, has always 
 been, and doubtless always will be, a distinctively 
 feminine prerogative. 
 
 "Now what shall I do?" she exclaimed petu- 
 lantly. " 'Tis full three miles to Rocky Heights 
 and I'm but an indifferent walker !" She gave 
 vent to her perplexity by softly tapping the toe 
 of a dainty slipper with the tip of her parasol — a 
 mild way of expressing a woman's woe. 
 
 "Why, we'll ride back in the good old colonial 
 style," comforted Jerome, turning to a sleek sor- 
 rel horse, which happily was still tethered where 
 he had left him in the morning. "The old ways 
 are the best ways, after all." 
 
 He untied the horse and began to unbuckle the 
 saddlegirth preparatory to arranging the blanket 
 behind the saddle. 
 
 "Ah, I thought you were a disciple of the New 
 
24 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 South," she observed archly, measuring in the 
 swift glance the possibility of maintaining a safe 
 seat on the improvised palfrey. 
 
 "And so I am," he replied, as he tested the 
 strength of the saddlegirth, politically. "In sen- 
 timent, I am with the Old South. I believe in its 
 soul of honor — its sense of chivalry." 
 
 A light of admiration which she was un- 
 able to restrain suddenly leaped to the girl's 
 eyes. Where had this unlettered youth im- 
 bibed such knowledge? Had not the foun- 
 tains of Southern chivalry long since withered 
 and ceased to send forth their sparkling 
 flow? She caught a swift vision of another foun- 
 tain, whose frantic fury gushed out a glittering 
 yellow flow of molten gold. Young as she was, 
 she had been taught that the possession of wealth 
 was knowledge; but somehow, despite all of her 
 preceptors, and the pressure of environment, she 
 had reversed that theory. A generation back in 
 her family there had been a learned man — an 
 ever-thirsting student — and the money-getters 
 who had followed him had been unable to blot out 
 that "bar sinister" from the blood. At the age of 
 eighteen Maxine MacDonald was almost a 
 scholar ; that is to say, she was conversant with 
 scholarly productions. 
 
 After diligent search for one in whom the best 
 ideals of the Old South lived with the best and 
 the brightest of the New — for one, indeed, whom 
 she purposed and hoped to find in the feminine — 
 she had found her affinity in a country youth. 
 A flood-tide of fancy submerged her heart for a 
 
The Girdle of the Great ^5 
 
 moment. And she gazed at Jerome with a sort 
 of dream- Uke radiance in her face. 
 
 Jerome, had he been conversant with the more 
 recent novels, might have seen in this the "psy- 
 chological moment." But, as he was not, he in- 
 terpreted her silence and facial expression to 
 mean simply fear and hesitancy about accepting 
 the improvised seat behmd his saddle. "If you'll 
 just mount that big rock yonder, Miss Maxine," 
 he said, pointing to a boulder a few yards dis- 
 tant, "you'll have no trouble about taking your 
 seat. And I promise, on my honor, to help you 
 keep it till you get to Rocky Heights." 
 
 With a nervous little laugh she did as she was 
 bidden. A moment later she was safely mounted 
 on the make-shift side-saddle. And as, perforce, 
 it became necessary for her to place her soft arms 
 around his waist, Jerome speedily forgot all 
 other girdles of the great. "This is the way our 
 forebears took their weddin' tours," he said mis- 
 chievously, as he turned the horse's head toward 
 Rocky Heights. He glanced over his shoulder 
 and saw that his words had sent a wave of deep 
 carmine to her cheeks. 
 
 "Please God that this one of their descendants 
 may not be required to do so," she retorted. "I 
 prefer a top-buggy." 
 
 Jerome winced, and ventured no more inno- 
 cent remarks on that score. 
 
 Slowly, partly because it was necessary, and 
 
 partly because he so willed it, they rode toward 
 
 / Rocky Heights, Dr. Allen's princely estate. The 
 
 sweet calm of eventide lay amber hued on wood 
 
 and lane and emerald field, save for the liquid 
 
^6 The Girdle of the GREAf 
 
 vespers of mocking-birds, or the silvery tinkling 
 of sheep bells, or the plaintive call of quails deep 
 in the tangled coverts. 
 
 "I believe I will walk the rest of the way," 
 said Maxine suddenly, as they were nearing a 
 rough stretch of road. "I am devoted to walk- 
 ing, when the distance is not too great," she 
 added quickly. 
 
 "It is more than a mile, and the road is al- 
 most impassable for foot-travellers. I could not 
 think of letting you do so," Jerome replied with 
 determination. 
 
 "Letting me do so?" she echoed. "Why, you 
 talk as if you were a king, and I captive being 
 borne off to some gray and gruesome castle. I 
 shall walk, sir, if I will." There was, however, 
 a note of satisfaction in the retort which was not 
 wasted on Jerome's ears. He was not slow to 
 read its meaning. She was not displeased to find 
 him the possessor of a strong will. 
 
 "You must stay where you are," he said gently, 
 but with an undercurrent of resolution, "for your 
 omm sake." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I'm pre-eminently selfish," she re- 
 plied with a trace of merriment in her tone. 
 "Therefore I can consistently obey." 
 
 I^c ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 All too soon for Jerome the delightful, old- 
 fashioned ride was at an end. As he drew rein 
 before the mansion at Rocky Heights, he caught 
 a sudden glimpse of Gabriel scowling in the 
 doorway. "Looks like I'll have a duel on my 
 hands," Jerome observed playfully. 
 
The Girdle of the GREAf 27 
 
 "The Old South again," she mocked, a mis- 
 chievous Hght in her blue eyes. 
 
 "Yes, an old sword for an old story," he 
 flashed back. "Miss Maxine," he continued, 
 when he had assisted her to dismount, "will you 
 go driving with me to-morrow afternoon?" His 
 voice shook now, despite a desperate effort to ap- 
 pear composed. He knew that she would depart 
 the day after for her far southern home, and 
 that this would be his last opportunity. He 
 awaited her answer with breathless eagerness, his 
 heart throbbing tumultuously. She hesitated a 
 moment, in which she seemed to toy with her 
 decision as if it were a dainty kerchief, then look- 
 ing him squarely in the eyes, flung forth a strong 
 and decisive "No." Before he could recover 
 from his surprise, she had turned, entered the 
 gate and fled like a white mist up the narrow box- 
 wood avenue. 
 
 Marjorie, Gabriel's sister, stood on the veran- 
 da. "Oh Max," she exclaimed, "you're just in 
 time to stop a searching-party. 'Pon my word 
 we thought you'd run off with — with Jerome." 
 
 Maxine detected beneath the banter a pathetic 
 little plea. "Why, no, Marjy," she said with 
 mischievous intonation ; "he ran off with me — or 
 rather I should say, rowed off, since we went in 
 a boat. What became of you? I never — " 
 
 "Oh, Gabriel made me come home with him — 
 said that you had deserted him — that the Wilber 
 boys down the way would laugh if he drove by 
 with no one — I begged him to wait, but he 
 wouldn't — he's always been spoiled, you know — " 
 
 "Miss Maxine, you've left your parasol," came 
 
28 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 a desperate voice from the vicinity of the gate. 
 
 "Oh, yes. Just leave it at the gate, won't you, 
 please?" she called back sweetly. 
 
 Then Jerome, having snatched at his last straw, 
 mounted his horse and rode on his wav to River- 
 wood. Nevertheless, his heart palpitated with 
 the stirring incidents of the day. A bright star 
 seemed suddenly to have burned througn his 
 black horoscope. Not even Maxine's refusal to 
 grant his last request could dim the golden 
 gleams of hope. 
 
 Slowly, with the fancied impress of her soft, 
 shapely arms still about him, he rode. His bridle- 
 rein lay slackened — almost drooping on the 
 horse's neck. He revelled in the thought that he 
 would be like the strong, sturdy oak to the cling- 
 ing ivy of Alaxine's love. That she had given 
 him even faint encouragement, was a vital tonic 
 to his soul. Like the widow's measure of meal, 
 that measure, however infinitesimal, would pos- 
 sess the power to prolong itself. But the girl's 
 words — and he was forced to admit — high-flown 
 ways, had suggested a fact which seemed gro- 
 tesquely out of harmony with the former fitness of 
 things; that he, a gentleman's son and the son of 
 an aristocrat, should be forced to admit that good 
 breeding alone was not sufficient qualification to 
 the woman whom he sought in marriage. Noth- 
 ing more surely marked the passing of an old 
 regime. And vet he did not understand the mo- 
 tive-spring of that passing. What new forces 
 were at work in the South? What reconstruc- 
 tion was to crown Reconstruction? Whence had 
 this mere girl, who, on occasion, could be as 
 
The Girdle of the Great 29 
 
 frivolous as April sky, received such startling 
 tlieories? These questions arose in Jerome's 
 mind, but they remained unanswered. 
 
 As to the matter of her refusal to accept his 
 invitation to go driving, he saw in that only a 
 woman's freak of fancy. In his opinion it had 
 no bearing on the case, one way or the other. 
 The fact that she had spent the major part of 
 the day in his company was far more auspicious 
 than her refusal to spend a few hours could be 
 direful. 
 
 Once or twice, as Jerome glanced ahead, he 
 fancied that he descried the dark outline of a 
 figure moving stealthily in the shadow of the 
 trees which flanked the roadway. He finally dis- 
 missed the idea, however, as an illusion, or a trick 
 of the moon, just rising like a brimming bowl of 
 quicksilver above the silent tree-tops. 
 
 Suddenly, as he was entering the most perilous 
 part of the steep slope, which dipped down to the 
 river, a dark figure crouching toad-like by the 
 roadway, sprang up and struck the horse a sting- 
 ing blow across the haunches. It was done so 
 silently and speedily, that Jerome, instinctively 
 clutching the rein more firmly, caught only a 
 hurried, indistinct glimpse of his assailant. The 
 next instant the frightened horse was rushing 
 madly down the slope. Jerome had unfortunately 
 trained him to increase his speed at an unusual 
 tightening of the rein ; so all hope of checking 
 him in that way was rendered useless. Instead, 
 Jerome grasped the pommel of the saddle, and, 
 clinging desperately, shouted, "Whoa! whoa! 
 who^!" but the terrified animal, borne on by 
 
30 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 mighty momentum, could not have stopped, even 
 if he had had the disposition to do so. 
 
 Down, down, a swiftly moving silhouette be- 
 neath the fantastic glow of the moonlight, shot 
 horse and rider, — slipping, sliding, flashing lurid 
 sparks of fire. In that fearful plunge there was 
 something ghastly, ghostly, intensely terrible. It 
 was like the phantom ride of "Tarn o' Shanter," 
 or the stampede of wild horses, or the crashing of 
 boulders riven by thunder-bolts. 
 
 Near the ferry the road turned sharply around 
 an unused stretch of trail, at whose base a 
 mighty mass of mingled rock and earth had 
 crumbled off into the river. Would the horse 
 make that new turn, or would he, thundering 
 over the old trail, leap the precipice and plunge 
 to awful death on the jagged rocks below? Fear 
 of the latter sent a shiver of horror to Jerome's 
 soul. He was no coward. But he could not en- 
 dure the thought of a death like that. Nearer, 
 nearer to the dangerous curve they rushed, 
 Jerome's face white, drawn, tense with infinite 
 eagerness. Could he possibly swerve the mad 
 horse to the left? Under the impulse of the 
 thought, he clutched at the rein, but it eluded 
 him and went over the horse's head. They were 
 in the mouth of the curve now. With a last, 
 frantic effort, Jerome shouted and leaned as far 
 as possible to the left. Even in the act, he saw 
 how hopeless it was. Unable at such great speed 
 to make the turn, the horse was rushing down the 
 old road. The dull, leaden boom of the river 
 sounded in the rider's ears. A white, frothii^g 
 patch flashed up to greet his burning gaze. He 
 
'They were in the moutli of the curve now." 
 
 Facing: /^agv 30 
 
The Girdle of the Great 31 
 
 could almost hear the laughter of demons in the 
 swirl of the wild waters. A few yards — he 
 shrank from the possibility. 
 
 Once more a desperate thought flashed over 
 him. He swiftly sought to kick clear of the stir- 
 rups and slide from the horse. That effort, too, 
 proved fruitless. For some reason his right foot 
 became entangled. Determined to succeed at any 
 hazard, he ran his hand deep down in his pocket, 
 withdrew his knife, opened it with his teeth and 
 with a frantic stroke slashed the saddle-girth. A 
 moment it held by a strand ; then snapped, and 
 Jerome lost consciousness in a sickening, star- 
 shot whirl. 
 
32 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 \ AN URGENT CALL. 
 
 Late in the night there came a hurried, in- 
 sistent rapping at Doctor Allen's front door. In 
 response to it, the Doctor himself, a squat, side- 
 whiskered individual, whose rotund, florid face 
 plainly bespoke the Epicurean, appeared. "What 
 is it?" he demanded briskly. "Ah, it's Jeffries, 
 isn't it?" he added, as a bar of light from the 
 lantern played over the visitor's bronzed, bearded 
 face. 
 
 "That same, Doc," gasped the man, breathless 
 from the excitement and the hurried climb up 
 the slope, "I've jest — found Romey Watkins — 
 on the old road — lyin' dead-like — under his sad- 
 dle — with boss gone — dunno but the boy's done 
 fer — come quick. Doc." 
 
 "How'd it happen?" queried the Doctor, un- 
 easily, studying the other's face. 
 
 "Dunno — reckin' hit wuz er — runaway — good- 
 bye, I must go tell the ole man." Jeffries sud- 
 denly turned and bounded down the steps. A 
 
 few moments later the Doctor followed him. 
 * * * * * * * 
 
 Several in the house had overheard this con- 
 versation. Gabriel, whose room was no great 
 distance away, had prept to his door and listene4 
 
The Girdle of the Great 33 
 
 with rapt attention, a cold glitter in his eyes, his 
 ruddy face betraying only too plainly the nature 
 of his thoughts. When satisfied that his father 
 had gone he stole silently from the house, and, 
 approaching a nearby cabin, called softly, "Tim, 
 Tim." 
 
 A black head was soon thrust out the narrow 
 window. "Who dat?" asked the owner sus- 
 piciously. "Is dat you, Mister Gabriel ?" he added 
 more complacently, sleepily rubbing his eyes. 
 
 "Yes," answered Gabriel, approaching the 
 window, "You've done your work well, Tim. 
 But if you ever breathe to a living soul that 1 
 hired you to do it," — he suddenly reached up and 
 clutched the negro's collar — "I'll kill you, so help 
 me God!" 
 
 "Dat I woan', dat I woan', Mister Gabriel," fal- 
 tered the negro, his eyes big and bright with 
 terror; "no, no fer all de goF in Norf C'aliny." 
 
 "See to it that you don't, then, or you will be 
 sorry for it," muttered Gabriel, relaxing his grip. 
 "But hold," he continued with a tightening of 
 his iron grasp, "did Jerome — did the devil — 
 recognize you?" 
 
 "No, sah, I kep' de mask ober ma face." 
 
 "Very good," chuckled Gabriel as he released 
 the negro ; "I can easily prove an alibi. But, mind 
 you, you're to keep mum as marble. Your 
 mammy was in the kitchen and didn't miss you. 
 I — only / — knew where you were." He gave a 
 great sigh of relief, turned sharply on his heel; 
 and, as the guilty so often do, sought the scene 
 of the runaway and the presence of the victim. 
 Jiere he could linger in the shadow and watch 
 
34 The Girdle of the Great \ 
 
 the dark deed bear its blanched fruit, gloating 
 under the guise of sympathy. 
 
 Meantime Maxine, who had retired early 
 against an early rising in the morning when she 
 had decided to take her departure, was pacing 
 the floor in an agony of suspense and fear. Be- 
 ing restless and unable to sleep like her com- 
 panion, Marjorie, she, too, had overheard the 
 ferryman's fateful words. They had sent a swift 
 surge of remorse and sorrow to her heart. She 
 bitterly reproached herself for having refused 
 Jerome's request to go driving with him. She 
 had done it merely to test him. The possibility 
 that the man who gave such brilliant promise was 
 dead, dying, or hopelessly maimed, overmastered 
 and unnerved her. Somehow an invisible bond 
 linked their future. She felt in a measure re- 
 sponsible for the success or failure of his career. 
 
 Tears suddenly gushed to her eyes like glisten- 
 ing jets from a full fountain. "Oh God," she 
 moaned, "spare him, spare him." 
 
 "Why, what in the name of all the saints is the 
 matter. Max ?" cried Marjorie, raising up in bed. 
 "Have you had a nightmare ?" 
 
 "Yes — a nightmare — a terrible nightmare," 
 Maxine faltered, as with heaving bosom and 
 throbbing temples, she crept softly back to bed. 
 Marjone was soon asleep again; but there v/as 
 no rest for Maxine. Through the long hours she 
 lay wide-eyed and trembling, her heart gripped 
 by giant fears. Over and over again she fancied 
 she could see the tragedy; and always the face 
 of Gabriel Allen peered out of the background as 
 the face of one welded to evil deeds. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 35 
 
 In the rose-red of the dawn, when a wreathing 
 wraith-Hke mist wound over the river-valley, 
 Maxine crept unobserved from the sleeping 
 house. At the gate she paused a moment. 
 Should she go on? She hung her head and hesi- 
 tated, absorbed in thought. Had she not for this 
 purpose withheld her speech when the natural 
 impulse was to cry out the sad intelligence to 
 Alarjorie? Yes, for this — that she might steal 
 away to him in the early morning and gaze upon 
 his poor marred face — she had kept silent. And 
 for this she would go. She resolutely flung open 
 the gate and hurriedly descended the hill to the 
 ferryman's cottage. 
 
 It was a white- faced fluttering little creature, 
 vacillating between hope and fear, that greeted 
 the tall, grizzled ferryman when he opened the 
 cottage door. "Mornin', Miss, mornin','' he 
 cried cordially, swinging wide the door, "come in 
 — the house is all tore up, but — " 
 
 "How is Jero — Mr. Watkins?" she broke in, 
 with a shuddering gasp. Her heart thundered 
 like a trip-hammer in her ears. Dull gleams of 
 uncertainty darted beneath the deep blue of her 
 eyes. She unconsciously clutched at his sleeve, 
 as if she would compel his answer to be favora- 
 ble. 
 
 "In er mouty bad way. Miss." he answered 
 with evident sorrow. 
 
 "They took him home 'bout three o'clock. He 
 was still unconscious. My! you orter seed the 
 ole man's face. He — " 
 
 "Is Mr. Jerome fatally injured?" she inter- 
 
36 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 rupted hoarsely, unable longer to stand the strain 
 of suspense. 
 
 "Wal, he wuz mouty much bruised an' bloodied 
 up. The Doc. couldn't egzackly tell erbout in- 
 tarnal injoories. I sed the boy wuz unconscious, 
 but he kept on callin' Max — ]\Iax somethin', I 
 dunno what — what's the matter, Miss, you look 
 sick?" he cried suddenly, catching at the girl's 
 arm as she swayed slightly to one side. 
 
 "I'm all right now — can you ferry me across 
 the river — I wish to go at once," she gasped, her 
 face white to the lips, but her eyes shining with 
 unbending purpose. 
 
 "Yes, when you've rested up er spell — an' 
 drinked er leetle brandy. I keeps hit fer snake- 
 bites," he added, as he led the way to one of the 
 front rooms. "Fl be back in er minit," he said, 
 indicating a chair. 
 
 Maxine was scarcely seated before he had re- 
 appeared with a brimming glass of brandy. 
 "Drink some er this," he urged, with rough ten- 
 derness. 
 
 Maxine silently obeyed, and soon felt the warm 
 blood surging back to her heart 
 
 After a few moments she announced her readi- 
 ness to cross the river in such earnest tones that 
 the ferryman acquiesced. 
 
 "Be you er frien' er the Watkinses, Miss?" he 
 queried when thev had entered the flat and were 
 pushing off. 
 
 "Yes — of Mr. Jerome Watkins." 
 
 "Wal, you're my frien' then," exclaimed the 
 ferryman with a burst of enthusiasm. "Evybody 
 what's er frien' ter Romey Watkins is er frien' 
 
The Girdle of the Great 3^ 
 
 ter me. I caint somehow never fergit him fer 
 pulHn' that Bruce er mine otit'n this river at the 
 resk er his own Hfe. Jot> Jeffries aint one ter 
 fergit sich things. Poor Romey — I hope an' 
 pray he won't make er die uv it." 
 
 Though Maxine's face fully approved his 
 crude, heart-felt expression, she made no reply. 
 And the ferryman lapsed into silence, giving his 
 attention wholly to the management of the ilat. 
 
 "What's your name, Miss — ef you'll excuse an' 
 ole man fer axin?" he queried when she had 
 stepped ashore. 
 
 "Maxine MacDonald." 
 
 "What! the one he wuz callin' fer? No, I 
 won't take no pay," he insisted as she removed a 
 coin from her purse, "when you're on your way 
 ter see — " 
 
 "But you must," she urged, "I can't let you — " 
 
 He cut short all remonstrance by swiftly re- 
 versing his course. "The flat'U be ready when- 
 ever you want ter cross," he called back. 
 
 Then she gathered her skirts and bravely 
 trudged up the half-mile slope to Riverwood. 
 
 At the door of the mansion she stood finally, 
 maidenly modesty and a soft, strange glow in 
 her blue eyes. Uncertainly master of all. Would 
 they think her indelicate? Pier cheeks flamed at 
 the thought. Would he think her overbold ? She 
 shuddered; alas, he might never think again — ■ 
 coherently. She raised her little clenched fist to 
 rap on the door. A sudden longing to flee seized 
 her. She half-turned. A footstep — a slow, lag- 
 ging footstep— arrested her attention. She 
 wheeled about to face an old negro who was com- 
 
38 The Cirdle of the GREAf 
 
 ing up the walk. Dejection was discernible in 
 the stoop of his powerful shoulders. Something 
 more burdensome than the incubus of years was 
 weighing him down. 
 
 "Mornin', Missy," he said, doffing his cap 
 quickly, "how's Marse Romey ?" He awaited her 
 answer, cap in hand, the very soul of respect and 
 courtesy. 
 
 "That's what I've come to find out, uncle," she 
 replied kindly. She turned again to the door, 
 giving it a sharp rap. 
 
 "Oh, dat aint Missy 't all," the old negro ex- 
 claimed as he drew nearer. "De ole nigger's eye- 
 sight am sho'ly gittin' bad — sho'ly gittin' bad. 
 Po' HI' Marse Romey," he ran on as if in solilo- 
 quy, "all momucked en mud'ud up by dat deb- 
 blish boss. De bes' chile ebber bawn on dis rib- 
 ber. Dest ez sho' fer heaben ez de purly gates 
 hangs on de golden hinges." 
 
 "Is he — ?" But Maxine did not finish the sen- 
 tence. The door opened suddenly and she was 
 face to face with an angelic-looking little woman 
 whose great dark eyes were strikingly suggestive 
 of Jerome's. The dark circles beneath them be- 
 spoke the struggles of a sleepless night. 
 
 "I am Miss MacDonald," Maxine faltered, 
 striving hard to restrain the question throbbing 
 in her heart till she could couch it in composure. 
 
 "And I am Jerome's mother," said the little 
 woman, warmly grasping the girl's extended 
 hand. 
 
 "Is Mr. Jerome seriously — fatally injured?" 
 
 The question was out. And a mother's ears 
 could no more be deceived by the forced calm- 
 
The Girdle of the CREAf 39 
 
 ness with which it had been uttered than her eyes 
 could fail to read in the younger woman's face 
 the tell-tale tokens. 
 
 "We hope not," she replied quickly. "Dr. Al- 
 len" — she hesitated over the name — "says it wiu 
 be some days before he can fully determine the 
 extent of internal injuries." 
 
 Her eyes filled with tears, her voice became 
 choked. 
 
 "Missy, oh, Missy," broke in the old negro, 
 who had all the while been standing impatiently 
 at the foot of the steps, "how'se Marse Romey dis 
 mornin'?" 
 
 He shuffled his big feet from side to side in a 
 very agony of uneasiness. He hung on her words 
 like a prisoner at the bar. 
 
 "Well, his mind's clear. Uncle Sam, but we 
 don't know the extent of his injuries. He's 
 badly bruised and shaken up." 
 
 "Tank Gord, tank Gord, he's still in de Ian' ov 
 de libin'," he ejaculated, "an' I'se gwineter 'rassul 
 wid de Lawd ter spare dat chile." 
 
 "Jerome has asked for you — would you see 
 him. Miss MacDonald?" the mother queried half- 
 hesitatingly. 
 
 "Yes," Maxine replied almost before she had 
 thought. 
 
 The mother led the way across the wide, wains- 
 cotted hall, softly opened the door and conducted 
 Maxine into a large, old-fashioned room. The 
 girl's gaze instantly travelled to a distant corner 
 where a gray-haired man sat beside a low arm- 
 chair, in which, with an attitude of utter pain, 
 half reclined a blanketed, bandaged figure. The 
 
4d The Girdle of the Great 
 
 old man arose quickly and came forward, all the 
 cordiality and courtesy of the ancient Southern 
 gentleman beaming in his face. 
 
 "Why, isn't this Miss IMacDonald ?" he ex- 
 claimed warmly, extending a strong brown hand 
 before his wife could introduce them (the colonel 
 hated formality). 
 
 "Yes, sir," Maxine gasped. Though trembling 
 with eagerness to see the figure screened by the 
 colonel's tall form, she was completely won by 
 the warmth and heartiness of the old man's man- 
 ner. "I've come over to inquire about — Mr. 
 Jerome," she added in a lowered tone, her face 
 full of colour. 
 
 "Ah, it is kind — very kind and thoughtful of 
 you," ejaculated the colonel, stepping aside. 
 "There," he continued, turning about and dramat- 
 ically pointing to the bandaged figure, "there" — 
 his gray mustache bristled and his steel-blue eyes 
 shot fire — "there is what some inhuman wretch 
 has done to my son !" 
 
 And seeing clearly for the first time, Maxine 
 beheld above the white bandage a pair of un- 
 naturally bright eyes. Only too plainly they be- 
 trayed the consuming eagerness and overmaster- 
 ing impatience which throttled his heart and 
 twitched his sealed lips. 
 
 "You must excuse me," said the colonel with 
 a stately bow to Maxine, "I have an engagement 
 with one of my friends." 
 
 A moment later the mother, too, found an ex- 
 cuse for leaving, and the twain — she who had 
 dared so much and he who had snatched his life 
 from the jaws of death — were alone. 
 
V/i^.L 
 
 Tliis is wliat some human wretch lias done to my son." 
 
 Facina pa^e 10 
 
1 
 
The Girdle of the Great 41 
 
 "Maxine," he said in a strained, hoarse whis- 
 per, "Oh, Maxine, I knew you — would come — if 
 you only knew — " he pulled the bandage still 
 further aside — "I said — " 
 
 "Hush," she broke in, coming to his side, "you 
 mustn't talk. You mustn't remove the band- 
 age. 
 
 "But, Maxime — I want to talk — to you — I'm 
 afraid — I'm done for." 
 
 She tenderly placed a soft white hand on the 
 arm of his chair. "You mustn't talk like that," 
 she said bravely; "it gives me pain. The South 
 needs you; the world waits for you; and I" — 
 "Want you to get well," she added, striving to 
 conceal by looking away the blush which mounted 
 her fair face. 
 
 "Four years — four years — that's too long to 
 wait — even if — " 
 
 She silenced him with a wave of protest. 
 "Listen," she said; "a certain court-beauty, to 
 test an admirer's love, once threw her glove 
 among lions and bade him recover it. He did so 
 at the peril of his life, and rightly threw the 
 glove in her face. To test your love" — she made 
 a tragic little gesture, and in her beautiful eyes 
 shone the light of the Ancient Scholar — "I throw 
 my heart among the Lions of Knowledge. You 
 will thank me for the test. Even though you 
 should throw my heart back, as a thing apart 
 from your life and unworthy, it will have brought 
 you none the less the Girdle of the Great." She 
 paused, leaning over him so near that her fra- 
 grant breath fell like a benediction on his bruised 
 brow. 
 
42 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 He gazed up at her, a great, yearning tender- 
 ness in his dark eyes. "Oh, Maxine," he gasped. 
 
 But the words died on his Ups. The door 
 swung suddenly open and Dr. Allen stood before 
 them. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 43 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 some surprises. 
 
 Dr. Allen had a habit of entering the sick-room 
 at unexpected hours, excusing the liberty on the 
 plea that he wished to note the real condition of 
 his patients before they could disorder their 
 pulses. Being something of a hypocrite himself, 
 he invariably looked for that element in the lives 
 of others. The only redeeming quality about the 
 Doctor's hypocrisy (if that vice can be said to 
 possess mitigating circumstances) was its cheer- 
 fulness. 
 
 An exclamation of surprise rushed to his lips 
 when he saw Maxine standing beside Jerome. 
 His florid face assumed the hue of an overripe 
 peach, but he almost instantly recovered his com- 
 posure. "Why, Miss Maxine," he laughed, 
 "you've turned trained nurse," and, "by the by," 
 he ran on, feeling Jerome's pulse, "you've got his 
 heart going likety-clip like a scared rabbit." 
 
 She blushed, murmured something, and left 
 the room. 
 
 The doctor proceeded with his examination. 
 "Doing pretty well, boy," he said, adjusting the 
 bandages, "but you inustn't talk much. And you 
 must be careful next time about the sort of horses 
 you ride." 
 
44 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 Jerome essayed to reply. The doctor silenced 
 him with a gesture. "No, no, my boy, you must 
 keep quiet — your mind isn't exactly clear — a 
 slight concussion — a slight clot on the brain- 
 but you'll be all o. k. in a few days if your heart 
 don't give you trouble." With that, he was gone, 
 leaving Jerome staring at the wall in helpless 
 misery. 
 
 Beyond a few pleasantries the doctor said lit- 
 tle to Maxine as they drove back in his dog-cart 
 to Rocky Heights — a fact for which she was 
 profoundly grateful. Though conscious of no 
 impropriety, she was nevertheless afflicted with a 
 haunting fear lest Jerome should think her want- 
 ing in modesty. Yet, she argued to herself, that 
 in his present state of mind — or, rather, to be 
 more accurate, of heart — it had seemed the only 
 course to pursue. Then, if ever, she should 
 strengthen him. Why not? He was to be her 
 ideal of the Nezu South — her soul's companion. 
 
 The doctor, too, had his reflections as the dog- 
 cart bumped down the steep slope to the ferry. 
 
 In early manhood he had indulged dreams of 
 great v/ealth. Money was his God, and he had 
 stooped to the lowest level to obtain it. Every 
 energy of his virile nature had been consequently 
 subserved to that end. He had studied the wiles 
 of the charlatan and the ways of the clown. He 
 possessed the faculty of making his patients be- 
 lieve they were well when they were sick, and 
 sick when they were well. His wealthy patients 
 had every disease in the medical records (and 
 many which were not) while the poor were al- 
 ways afflicted with trifles. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 45 
 
 The doctor also made a specialty of shaving 
 notes and lending money on ''gilt-edge security." 
 In the latter way he had gotten the estate of 
 Riverwood in his octopus-like clutches, taking a 
 cruel advantage of the Colonel's necessity. The 
 doctor's immediate reason for desiring the match 
 between Gabriel and Maxine was a valuable es- 
 tate adjoining Rocky Heights. While this estate 
 was at present in litigation, it remained in the 
 possession of Mr. Hector MacDonald, the presi- 
 dent of the Ansonville Bank. Maxine was Mr. 
 MacDonald's natural heir. Before the suit had 
 begun the doctor had vainly tried to purchase this 
 estate for a secret purpose : he had learned from 
 a prospector, whom he had attended in extremis, 
 that the "Brandon Place" contained valuable de- 
 posits of gold-bearing ore. 
 
 The incident of the- morning had therefore 
 grated somewhat harshly on his gold nerves. 
 
 When they reached the ferry, the doctor had 
 apparently regained his usual cheerfulness. He 
 gave a merry, winding blast with the signal- 
 horn. In a little while the ferry-flat put out 
 from the opposite shore. The ferryman was not 
 the one who had conveyed Maxine across in the 
 morning. He was a tall, sunburnt youth of per- 
 haps twenty. His face bespoke rural simplicity 
 and rugged honesty, with a touch of native 
 strength in the lines about the mouth and chin. 
 He saluted his passengers with an awkward bow 
 as he drew near shore. He was evidently little 
 used to the society of women. 
 
 "Good morning, Bruce," said the doctor, driv- 
 ing onto the flat. "Fine day." 
 
46 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 "Yes, sir," responded the youth. 
 
 "Any news," continued the doctor, warily. 
 
 "Nuthin' in pertickler, sir. How's Romey 
 Watkins?" 
 
 "Oh, he's doing fairly well." 
 
 "Powerful glad ter hear it," said the youth. 
 "It's quare, though, how thet hoss cum ter run 
 erway with him. Alust er bin skeered bad by — " 
 
 The doctor cut him short by asking about the 
 autumn horse-fair to be held at Ansonville. But 
 J\Iaxine's suspicions were aroused and she sus- 
 pected that the doctor knew more than he cared 
 to admit. 
 
 As they were passing the spot where the old 
 road turned into the new, Maxine ventured a 
 question about the runaway, but the doctor 
 adroitly conveyed the conversation into another 
 channel. 
 
 When they arrived at Rocky Heights, Maxine 
 was instantly borne off by Marjorie to a shel- 
 tered part of the veranda and assailed with a 
 fusillade of questions. "Did he say anything 
 about me?" she queried, after asking the extent 
 of Jerome's injury. 
 
 "Well, no, I believe not," IMaxine stammered. 
 
 "Not a word?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Oh, well, I think I can understand it then, 
 Max," Marjorie said, with a poor little attempt 
 at pleasantry. "You didn't give him the chance 
 to say it." 
 
 "Indeed I did— I—" 
 
 The conversation was ended by the breakfast- 
 bell. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 47 
 
 The meal passed silently — almost solemnly — 
 save for an occasional witticism by the doctor, 
 who feared lest his guest should become offended 
 at any marked discourtesy on his part. 
 
 Gabriel was too chagrined at the affair of the 
 morning to offer any remarks at all. His face 
 betrayed only too plainly the gloomy nature of 
 his thoughts. He had determined, however, to 
 make a desperate effort to regain his standing 
 with Maxine as he drove with her to Ansonville. 
 Accordingly, he hastened the preparations for de- 
 parture. Unhappily for him, he could not hasten 
 Maxine. It was fully nine o'clock when they 
 drove through the big gate. The train left An- 
 sonville at ten-fifteen. Gabriel would, therefore, 
 have less time than he had anticipated to present 
 his case. He resolved to make the most of it. 
 
 When they were well out of sight in a monot- 
 onous stretch of pine forest, he went at once to 
 the heart of the matter — or the matter of the 
 heart. 
 
 "Maxine," he said, tenderly, dropping the 
 lines over his knee, "I love you. Ever since I 
 saw you that first morning years ago at Anson- 
 ville, I have loved you passionately — with every 
 power of my nature. Say that it is returned, and 
 I will be the happiest man on earth." He paused, 
 gazed at her half -helplessly, yet with a certain 
 cruel strength in the set of his strong jaw. 
 "Speak, Maxine; say that you love me," he ran 
 on, piqued at the silence which had greeted his 
 passionate outburst. "Do not tell me that my 
 case is hopeless — " — his voice became husky and 
 hard — "that you love Jerome Watkins." 
 
48 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 Maxine started. His last words had struck 
 like a thunderbolt. The vision of a runaway- 
 horse and helpless rider surged up before her. 
 A wave of protecting tenderness submerged her 
 heart. 
 
 "Suppose I should tell you that I loved Jerome 
 Watkins?" she said, unwisely. "Suppose I 
 should tell you that I could never love anyone 
 else? Suppose — " 
 
 "I would kill him!" he cried, his face purple 
 with passion. 
 
 Fear gripped her heart. "Well, I do not love 
 him," she gasped, with a half-strangling intake 
 of breath, "but I do admire and respect him. 
 He would not strike a foe in the dark." 
 
 It was a chance shot, but it had struck home. 
 The blood fled from Gabriel's face, leaving it 
 white to the lips. His cruel jaw sagged like that 
 of a dog caught at the throat of a struggling 
 sheep. 
 
 "What — what — an oddity you are," he said at 
 last. He jerked up the lines, gave the horse a 
 cruel cut and the buggy bowled along the level, 
 yellow road. 
 
 Finally recovering his composure, he said : "In 
 spite of what you say, I must still believe you 
 love Jerome Watkins. Your actions prove it 
 (and 'actions speak louder than words'), but I 
 want you to know before you choose him that he 
 is entirely in my power. I hold a mortgage on 
 the estate of Riverwood. This mortgage can be 
 foreclosed. Colonel Watkins will never be able 
 to raise it. Jerome Watkins is no more than the 
 hireling son of a hireling." 
 
The Girdle of the Great 49 
 
 "He's the gentleman son of a gentleman," 
 rushed to Maxine's lips, but this time prudence 
 prevailed, and the retort remained unspoken. 
 
 "I'll tell you, Maxine," he ran on, "I'll soon be 
 the richest man in the county in my own right. 
 And you can't afford to marry a poor man. 
 How's that old saying about 'When Poverty 
 comes in the door, Love flies out the window'?" 
 
 "Please don't mention that subject to me 
 again," she said coldly. "I assure you it is most 
 unpleasant." She gazed out into the forest as if 
 supremely indifferent to his presence. 
 
 "I'll not mention it again, but you shall hear 
 of it again," he said harshly, giving the horse an- 
 other cruel cut. 
 
 They fairly dashed over a comparatively level 
 two-mile stretch, finally entering the ragged out- 
 skirts of the village. 
 
 Suddenly a cloud of dust was seen rolling to- 
 ward them. Nearer and nearer it swept along 
 the lane-like road till the outline of a horse and 
 buggy was discernible through the swirling red 
 mist. Soon the driver proved to be Mr. Hector 
 MacDonald, the banker. 
 
 "Lucky !" he cried, checking his horse, "twenty 
 minutes to catch the train" — he held up a flutter- 
 ing bit of yellow paper — "and this says come at 
 once." 
 
 He leaped out, helped Maxine to a seat in his 
 buggy and, with a bow to Gabriel, turned the 
 horse and dashed back toward the village. 
 
 Maxine opened the crumpled telegram which 
 the banker had thrust in her hands. It read : 
 
» 
 
 '50 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 "Mother seriously ill, come at once, 
 
 (Signed) Ambrose Payne/ 
 
 Many times that day as the train whirled 
 South, despite her uneasiness about her mother, 
 Maxine recalled Gabriel Allen's words — "I shall 
 not speak of it again, but you shall hear of it 
 again." 
 
The Girdle of the Great 51 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE KEEN EDGE OF DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 ^ September came. Gabriel Allen had gone to 
 Forest College, the doctor having strongly in- 
 sisted that he use the scholarship which the win- 
 ning of the medal had placed in his hands. 
 Rodolph Westcott, Winston Ingraham, Joe Mac- 
 Cauley and other neighborhood boys had also 
 left for various institutions of learning. Poor 
 Jerome, whose thirst for knowledge was more 
 intense than that of any of his associates, was 
 constrained by force of circumstances to remain 
 on the plantation. 
 
 Dr. Allen had grudgingly given the Colonel 
 till the last of November to pay off the mortgage ; 
 and it was necessary for every energy of the 
 entire family to be directed toward that end. 
 Jerome fully recognized this fact ; and, having 
 recovered from his wounds, manfully set about 
 the task, unsparingly lending his own hand to 
 the coarsest and most menial toil. 
 
 Owing to an exodus of negroes to the turpen- 
 tine orchards of Georgia, and to the Mississippi 
 bottoms, labor was scarce and high-priced that 
 season. Jerome was consequently often forced 
 to do double work. Old Sam was enfeebled by 
 
52 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 age, and his two sons, Bill and Ben, showed lit- 
 tle or no disposition to work. The Colonel, dis- 
 abled by a war-wound, could scarcely be taken 
 into account. Jerome's two younger brothers, 
 however, contributed worthily to the undertak- 
 ing. Yet the outcome of their combined efforts 
 seemed anything but promising. By some strange 
 and unaccountable decree of fate, the boll- 
 weevil ran riot among the cotton, and the bud- 
 worm among the corn. But the brave hearts of 
 old Riverwood never faltered. Every economy 
 was practiced. Every closed fountain of indus- 
 try was reopened : new ones were created. 
 
 One day in the latter part of October Jerome 
 stood with Old Sam in the cornfield along the 
 river bottom. They had just finished pulling the 
 last ripe ears from the bending stalks, and piled 
 the precious treasure in yellow heaps between 
 the ridges. The task had been a pre-eminently 
 disappointing one. Many an ear was small and 
 shriveled ; not a few stalks were barren. The 
 bud-worms had done their damage successfully. 
 
 "It seems like everything is against us," ob- 
 served Jerome, gazing sadly down the long rows 
 where the soft hues of eventide lay like a wine- 
 colored mist. 
 
 "Doan gib up, Marse Romey," comforted the 
 old negro. "Doan yer 'member how de Profit 
 Kerligy wuz s'ported by de ravens. Yassir, de 
 Lawd sho'ly tuck an' lif up Kerligy. An' he's 
 gwine ter lif you up an' tote you ober dis trouble 
 an' tribulashun." He paused and piously turned 
 the whites of his eyes heavenward. "Dere Jey 
 is! Dere dey is! Marse Romey," he cried ex- 
 
The Girdle of the Great 53 
 
 citedly, pointing to a flock of crows which were 
 even at that moment wheeling raucously over- 
 head. 
 
 "Yes, the same black rascals that added to our 
 miseries by pulling up the corn in the early 
 spring," observed Jerome, with a bitter smile, 
 
 "Scusen me, Marse Romey," exclaimed the 
 negro apologetically, "I wuz so tuk up wid de 
 Scripter dat I clar los' my senses. I didn't mean 
 ter make er mawk uv you, dat I didn't." 
 
 In a little while the two turned from the field 
 and set their faces toward the mansion. On the 
 way Jerome made a remark, partly to himself, 
 about having to give up all his prospects of en- 
 tering college. 
 
 "What yer reckin, Marse Romey," broke in the 
 old negro, "dat Bill uv mine is er finkin' er 'bout 
 gwine off ter school. Yassir, dat nigger's dun 
 got his haid sot on edicashun. He wants ter 
 smoke de big segyar an' wear red kervats lak 
 dem city gemmen. Bill sez he's gwine ter go 
 whar dey's fotched up ter be lawyers, docters, an' 
 prescribin' elders. But I doan lak dis edicatin' 
 uv niggers." 
 
 Jerome made no comment, though he recog- 
 nized in what the negro had said a startling truth 
 • — that a mere pensioner on a patron's bounty was 
 able to obtain for himself an opportunity hope- 
 lessly beyond the patron's own son. 
 
 Jerome was stunned and sickened by the very 
 irony of such a fate. The fact that an ignorant, 
 shiftless negro, who had set aside the law of his 
 nature with a spurt of industry, could grasp with 
 indifferent ease the goal of opportunity seemed 
 
54 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 strangely incongruous. Perhaps Jerome would 
 have grown bitter against his father for involv- 
 ing the estate had he not remembered that the 
 long illness of the mother had been largely re- 
 sponsible for it. The doctor's bill had been 
 enormous. 
 
 A hundred thoughts whirled through the 
 young man's mind as he walked on in silence, 
 the faithful old negro trudging like a patient ox 
 at his side. Above every other thought rose this : 
 "I shall not return to the earth, body and soul. 
 My dreams of education shall not perish. I shall 
 yet grasp the Girdle of The Great." 
 
The Girdle of the Great 55 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE IRONY OF FATE. 
 
 It was the 29th of November. A dismal day 
 had been followed by a dark night. At intervals 
 the wind, sweeping out of the North, howled like 
 a hungry wolf around the mansion of Rocky 
 Heights. 
 
 In a corner of the basement, fitted up as a sort 
 of laboratory, an animated discussion was in 
 progress. Dr. Allen stood behind a little counter 
 with a half-filled test-tube in his hand. Gabriel, 
 who had tarried at Rocky Heights since Thanks- 
 giving, leaned on the counter in an attitude of 
 intense eagerness, which one unacquainted with 
 him might have attributed to interest in the ex- 
 periment. This, however, was far from being 
 the case, as the young man's language indicated. 
 
 "They'll never raise it father — crop's a com- 
 plete failure," he chuckled, with a note of grim 
 humor in his tone. "Romey Watkins's face looks 
 long as a yard-stick. Just as well foreclose." 
 
 The doctor was silent a moment, in which he 
 critically examined the solution in the test-tube. 
 Finally he said, with a self-satisfied twinkle in his 
 small gray eyes: "A cornered rat, my son; a 
 cornered rat may escape ; a caged rat never. The 
 
56 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 Colonel is a caged rat. We may play with him. 
 Let us give him some days of grace — to gnaw at 
 his cage and gnash his teeth. 
 
 "And, by the by," he continued, shaking the 
 solution, "that ore from the Brandon place is the 
 real stuff. See how Aqua Regia dissolves it!" 
 
 "I don't like your way of waiting," grumbled 
 Gabriel. Rats that gnaw sometimes gnaw out. 
 I'm for slaying the miserable beggars. Kill the 
 rats while you've got 'em, or they'll spoil your 
 granary. The little foxes — the little rats — ?" 
 
 "Stop!" cried the doctor, "you're too fast. 
 "Have you ever considered that old Watkins 
 could indict you for secret assault — or at least, 
 for a conspiracy to that effect? You thought I 
 knew nothing, but ha ! you are mistaken. I knew 
 you were up to no angel's work when I saw you 
 hobnobbing with that wooly-headed Tim on the 
 day of the picnic. You know what followed as 
 well as I do. I made that Watkins boy think all 
 that stuff about someone striking his horse was 
 an optical delusion; but his mind will finally get 
 clear on that point. It is always the case." 
 
 Gabriel's face lost much of its ruddy hue; a 
 purplish tinge of surprise and consternation mot- 
 tled his round cheeks. 
 
 "Spyin' on me, were you?" he gasped, chok- 
 ing with anger. "No confidence in your own 
 son. Well, I don't wonder, but — " 
 
 "Enough, sir," snapped the doctor, his small 
 eyes blazing, his voice quivering with rage. "If 
 you meddle with my plans, I'll disinherit you in 
 two minutes! No uppish, smart-alecky sons for 
 me!" 
 
The Girdle of the Great 57 
 
 Seeing that his father was implacable on that 
 score, Gabriel instantly sought another point of 
 attack — one which he knew lay near and dear to 
 his father's heart. "Oh, well, I didn't mean to 
 hurt your feelings, father," he said apologetically, 
 "but it seemed to me the only way to the Brandon 
 place." 
 
 "To the Brandon place," echoed the doctor, a 
 perceptible softening in his voice. 
 
 "Yes. As long as Romey Watkins makes a 
 show of being rich, I don't stand any chance with 
 Maxine, that's all. There's nothing that those 
 MacDonalds won't do for money. Turn the Wat- 
 kinses out and the marriage between Maxine and 
 myself will seem to Mr. MacDonald a logical 
 conclusion." Gabriel paused, resting both elbows 
 on the flimsy counter, his cold blue eyes glinting 
 like polished steel balls in the guttering candle- 
 glow. He could read his triumph in his father's 
 face. He had touched the main artery of avarice 
 — the heart would respond to that. 
 
 The doctor replaced the test-tube in the re- 
 ceptacle, nervously fingered his eye-glass, then 
 replied: "I'm impressed by what you say, my 
 son. You've got a good eye to business. But 
 won't the cry of persecution soften the girl's 
 heart toward Jerome Watkins and harden it to- 
 wards you?" 
 
 "Women are a bundle of nerves tied together 
 with a string of sentiment. Snap that string of 
 sentiment and you've got hysteria. I'd rather 
 ride fox-hunting on a blind mule than to try to 
 reason with a hysterical woman." 
 
 "The MacDonalds have a gold-cure for that 
 
58 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 disease," said Gabriel dryly. "It's in the blood, 
 and I venture that Maxine has her share of it." 
 
 "Well, I'll give Watkins notice of the fore- 
 closure to-morrow," snapped the doctor, striving 
 to conceal his admiration of his son's shrewdness. 
 "You may have your way this time, but, mind 
 you, if you fail, it's your last chance. It seems 
 right hard," he continued, as a feeble ray of pity 
 struggled up out of his narrow soul, "right hard 
 to turn a man out of doors in winter — " 
 
 "Oh, don't do it, father," came a pleading voice 
 whose owner burst through the door, and, hurry- 
 ing behind the counter, placed a soft, restraining 
 hand upon the doctor's arm. "Oh, please don't, 
 father — it would be too cruel for anything." Her 
 large, limpid blue eyes beamed up at him be- 
 seechingly. 
 
 The doctor often said Marjorie was his good 
 angel, though he should have been ashamed to 
 confess that he seldom followed her guidance. 
 
 "Go on, Sis, go on, Sis," said Gabriel, almost 
 harshly. This is men's business. You know 
 nothing about it." 
 
 "I would be ashamed to confess it if I did," 
 she, retorted, "trying to persuade father to turn 
 Colonel Watkins out of doors." 
 
 "Tut, tut, little daughter," interrupted the doc- 
 tor, smoothing her soft hair, "it's just a matter of 
 business — something you don't understand. Run 
 along and see after your housekeeping." 
 
 "But, father, will you promise not to — " 
 
 "Oh, yes, little girl," he replied, stooping to 
 kiss her, "run along now. Ah, that's a good 
 girl." 
 
The GiRDLfi of the Great '50 
 
 "Don't forget your promise, father," she called 
 back as she glided through the door. 
 
 The doctor made no reply. He meant to profit 
 by the technicality. He had really made no 
 promise. Gabriel's reference to the Brandon 
 Place had impressed him more forcibly than he 
 cared to confess. 
 
 As for Marjorie, she ascended to her room 
 with strong fear surging in her soul. She knew 
 only too well her father's master weakness. In 
 fancy, she could see Colonel Watkins turning his 
 back forever on his ancestral halls, infinite 
 despair and sorrow written on his wrinkled brow. 
 She could see the mother and tne little brothers. 
 She could see Jerome, a strange stoop in his 
 strong shoulders ; something almost sinister in 
 his dark face. And then he staggered out into 
 the cold and cheerless world. But Marjorie saw 
 more as she gazed in the glowing grate. 
 
 She saw a woman step out of the shadows and 
 place her hand in Jerome's hand ; and that woman 
 was not Marjorie herself. A fierce pang of 
 jealousy smote the girl's heart. She, too, would 
 willingly go with him into homeless poverty and 
 drmk with him the deepest dregs of his bitter 
 cup. But that was not for her. It was not for 
 her to watch with him in his Gcthsemmie. It was 
 not for her to wipe the sweat of blood from his 
 brow. No, the greatest barrier of the ages had 
 decreed that. Unrequited love may climb the 
 mountain ; but it cannot descend into the valley 
 of the shadow. Only love returned measure for 
 measure can do that. 
 
 At length Marjorie arose and paced the floor, 
 
6o The GiRDLfi Of the GreaI* 
 
 her hands clasped to her throbbing bosom, her 
 white face bespeaking the intensity of the strug- 
 gle. She was giving up all her dreams. One by 
 one, like uncaged birds, they were flying from 
 her. No longer would their sweet warblings 
 charm her fancy. Poor little prisoners of hope, 
 they were being unfettered only to leave her in 
 heavier thrall — the thrall of despair. 
 
 She sank into the chair beside her writing- 
 desk, and taking pen and paper, wrote a note 
 into which she inscribed, as it were, her very 
 heart's blood. Sealing it quickly she thrust the 
 envelope in her bosom and drooped her fair head 
 upon her folded arms. 
 
 The red glow in the grate sank to a dull, life- 
 less gray. The solitary lamp cast fantastic 
 shadows on the wall. Moaning and madness 
 were in the wind as it leaped through the trees 
 and clutched convulsively at the shutters of her 
 little window. But neither gloom, nor ghost of 
 shadow, nor the wild wind could rob the woman 
 of her triumph. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 6i 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 the white visitor. 
 
 Conspicuous for its antique elegance and beauty 
 in the historic old City of New Orleans was 
 Clairbourne Hall, the ancestral seat of the Mac- 
 Donalds. Set well back amid its moss-hung trees 
 and luxuriant shrubbery, surrounded by Moorish 
 fountains and approached by glistening shell- 
 stone walks, it was typical of the two great na- 
 tions, whose tides had ebbed and flowed and 
 ebbed to flow no more in the Crescent City. The 
 first MacDonald, who had emigrated from Scot- 
 land and made his fortune in cotton, had pur- 
 chased the estate from a Frenchman, who in turn 
 had received it from a Spaniard. 
 
 Of the MacDonalds only one male representa- 
 tive — Mr. Hector MacDonald, the president of 
 the Bank of Anson ville — now remained. He had 
 reluctantly left the seat of his ancient patrimony 
 on account of a persistent malarial affection. 
 Shortly after his departure, his brother Hugh 
 had died, leaving a wife and one child — Maxine. 
 
 Being, as has been indicated, of a naturally 
 studious disposition, Maxine had no sooner 
 learned to read than she began eagerly to devour 
 the knowledge contained in a choice old library, 
 
62 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 many of whose volumes had come down as an 
 heirloom from one of her forebears, who had 
 been a professor in the University of Edinburgh. 
 These volumes, though held in less esteem than 
 the tall ledgers of the MacDonalds, had been suf- 
 fered to remain to preserve the house from 
 sacrilege. 
 
 It was at a female school in New Orleans that 
 Maxine had met and learned to love Marjorie 
 Allen; and it was through Mr. Hector Mac- 
 Donald that Dr. Allen had learned of the institu- 
 tion to which he had ultimately sent his daughter. 
 
 Strangely enough, Maxine was thinking of 
 Marjorie on this bright morning in December 
 when a servant entered the room with a letter 
 which bore that young lady's unmistakable in- 
 scription. Maxine was seated in her mother's 
 room. The invalid, who had somewhat rallied 
 from a recent attack, raised her head wearily as 
 the servant drew near. "What is it? I'm not 
 going to take it," she said querulously. 
 
 "Oh, it's only a letter for me — just a foolish 
 love letter from dear old Marjorie. "Why, I'll 
 read it to you, mamma," Maxine hastened to re- 
 ply. 
 
 Maxine began to read. As she proceeded the 
 color fled from her face, leaving it almost as 
 white as the sheet which she held to her burning 
 eyes. She stopped suddenly and thrust the 
 crumpled page in her bosom. She expected her 
 mother to express some surprise at this. A 
 glance at the invalid's face showed her that the 
 opiate which the doctor had recently administered 
 was beginning to take effect. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 63 
 
 'Did you say it was a — a — letter Maxy?" the 
 invalid queried in a dreamy, far-off tone. 
 
 "Yes, a letter, mamma," Maxine breathed 
 softly as she bent over and pressed a warm kiss 
 to the invalid's brow. "A letter that only an 
 angel could have written." 
 
 Then Maxine, tucking the cover more closely 
 about the sleeper, swiftly sought her own cham- 
 ber. Arrived there, she threw herself upon her 
 bed, buried her face in the pillows and wept bit- 
 terly. What could she do ? She was almost alone 
 in the world. Her mother, the one to whom she 
 could most naturally take her trouble, was prac- 
 tically in the borderland between life and death. 
 .She knew her uncle too well to appeal to him. 
 He could be as pitiless as he was pleasant where 
 money was concerned. It was true she had 
 money in her own right, but she could scarcely ^ 
 
 run the gauntlet of her uncle's guardianship to \^ 
 
 obtain relief for a bankrupt planter. And even 
 if she could, Colonel Watkins and Jerome would 
 doubtless refuse to accept it. 
 
 Jerome's proud, sensitive nature would recoil 
 from such humiliation. He would hate her for 
 it. He would despise an education purchased by 
 patronage. And she would despise him if he ac- 
 cepted it. Her knight must bear his own cross, 
 wear his own crown (of thorns if need be), 
 grasp his own girdle. What manhood could be 
 developed by munificence? What nobility could 
 spring from noblesse oblige f 
 
 Over against these thoughts, like a pointed ice- 
 berg against an arctic sky, rose the cold, hard 
 fact that Dr. Allen was about to foreclose a 
 
64 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 mortgage on Riverwood. Though she might not 
 understand the legal terms and technicalities, she 
 knew only too well that this boded no good to 
 Jerome. Turned from his home into the cold of 
 winter — a stranger in the house of his father — 
 what foothold could he gain to re-estabHsh him- 
 self? Gabriel Allen would glory in the down- 
 fall. It would be a honeyed wafer to his shriv- 
 eled soul. Maxine shivered as these thoughts 
 coursed through her mind. She was caught be- 
 tween the upper and nether millstones. To turn 
 either way was to be crushed. But suddenly as 
 she groped in the oppressive darkness a light of 
 possibility burst upon her. Why not put the mat- 
 ter in another's hands? Almost upon the heels 
 of this idea, she recalled an old friend of her 
 father's whom she could trust implicitly. He 
 lived in New York City. She would write him 
 the particulars as nearly as possible, placing her 
 case in his hands. 
 
 In the strength of this resolution, she rose 
 from her bed, went to her writing-desk, and, 
 seizing pen and paper, wrote like one inspired : 
 
 "My Dear Mr. Graves : Perhaps you will be 
 surprised to receive this letter, and even more 
 surprised when you read its contents. I am 
 aware that I'm about to ask of you an unusual 
 favor — so unusual, indeed, that I shall ask it 
 only on the basis of your long and honored in- 
 timacy with my dear father. 
 
 "To come at once to the gist of the matter, I 
 wish you to prevent the foreclosure of a mort- 
 gage held by a certain Doctor Allen on the es- 
 
The Girdle of the Great 
 
 65 
 
 tate of Riverwood, on the Pee Dee River, near 
 Ansonville, N. C. My reason for this you shall 
 know at some future time. I will be personally 
 responsible for the amount expended. Please at- 
 tend to this matter at once, as the mortgage is to 
 be foreclosed as soon as the legal time of notifi- 
 cation has expired. And last of all, my dear Mr. 
 Graves, may I not ask that my name shall not 
 appear in the matter at all ? 
 
 "With sincere esteem, I beg to subscribe my- 
 self, 
 
 "Your faithful friend, 
 "Maxine MacDonald." 
 
 She glanced over the letter quickly, folded, 
 sealed it in a plain white envelope and wrote the 
 address. 
 
 "Ah, Marjorie," she murmured, picking up the 
 letter which Marjorie had written and turning it 
 over as tenderly as though it were a wounded 
 bird, "this cost you a bitter sacrifice — mine only 
 a bitter struggle. I envy you — you have paid 
 more than I can pay — you are more worthy of 
 his love than I am worthy — and yet — " 
 
 The door of her room swung open and a 
 trained nurse, who had been recently engaged, 
 looked in, an expression of tender sympathy in 
 her gentle eyes. 
 
 Maxine sprang to her feet, reading the mes- 
 sage at a glance. "Has anything happened ?" she 
 gasped, her lips trembling with suspense, a 
 quaver of fear in her smothered tone. 
 
 "You must bear up bravely, my child," said 
 the nurse, approaching and placing her strong. 
 
66 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 sympathetic arm about ]\Iaxine's waist, "Your 
 mother has just taken a change for the worst, 
 and is sinking^ rapidly. Come with me." She 
 bore the girl half-fainting to the room where the 
 mother lay gasping out her life. With a wild 
 cry Maxine sank to her knees beside the couch 
 and pressed her pale lips to the nerveless hands. 
 And there she clung, her slight form convulsed 
 with great heartbroken sobs till the kindly old 
 doctor, who had lost his brave fight with death, 
 gently led her away. 
 
 "It is our poor human heritage," my daughter, 
 he said in a soothing fatherly tone as he smoothed 
 her fair hair, "and none can refuse to accept it. 
 But the Great Physician has made it golden with 
 the glory of his resurrection. He has broken the 
 shadows with bright beams of hope. He will be 
 with you to-day, and it shall be well with you." 
 
 Thus did the wise old physician, who had 
 learned to prescribe for the physical as well as 
 for the spiritual ailments of his patients, prepare 
 Maxine — if anyone is ever prepared — for the 
 final ordeal. 
 
 The letter which was to save Riverwood lay 
 forgotten in Maxine's room; and time was 
 precious. 
 
The Girdle of the Great (fj 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 AN APPEAL TO THE PRIMITIVE. 
 
 The 6th of December was a dark day at River- 
 wood, for quite another reason besides the failure 
 of the sun to penetrate a thick layer of steel gray 
 clouds. The Colonel had only the night before 
 returned from Ansonville, where he had seen, 
 conspicuously posted in the court house, a flaring 
 notice of the sale of Riverwood. The avaricious 
 little doctor had been as careful to comply with 
 legal requirements as he had been scrupulous to 
 avoid an encounter with the Colonel. 
 
 On his return to Riverwood, the Colonel had 
 informed his family of the disagreeable fact 
 which they had long anticipated with nameless 
 dread. The mother and the younger boys re- 
 ceived the information tearfully, Jerome in stolid 
 silence. He had drunk the cup of disappoint- 
 ment so often recently that he accepted its bitter- 
 ness without a grimace. Nevertheless, the cir- 
 cles beneath his eyes, as he sat with the others 
 at breakfast next morning, betrayed that, in com- 
 mon with his parent, he had spent a sleepless 
 night. 
 
 The meal passed in almost unbroken silence. 
 Yet the influence of the information, which was 
 information only in its startling reality, was 
 
68 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 clearly traceable on the features of the diners. 
 Colonel Watkins paused more than once to pull 
 nervously at his short moustache, and to contem- 
 plate his cofifee-cup, while the mother wiped bit- 
 ter tears from her dark eyes. Jerome ate his 
 breakfast with characteristic calmness. His face 
 was hard — almost cynical. What mattered it to 
 him if he were crushed down? The world was 
 wide and great — and he was young. He would 
 yet win out in life's strenuous struggle. The 
 steel in his character rang defiance to defeat. 
 But his parents — they whose years were fast flee- 
 ing through the gaping gates of life — when he 
 thought of them, his face softened to a sym- 
 pathetic glow. That sorrow should come to them 
 in the days which by right of restitution should 
 be sweet as the chime of twilight bells, peaceful 
 as a placid rivulet red with the wine of the after- 
 glow, well nigh broke his heart. How could he 
 know the pangs which pierced them at the 
 thought of giving up the old nest into which the 
 years had woven so many golden strands of 
 precious memory! How could he know the 
 pangs of the ancient oak uprooted from its native 
 soil — the soil which had given it blood and 
 brawn — to be transplanted in alien place ! Jerome 
 recognized his limit, and was silent. Some day 
 he might know these things, but not now. 
 
 "I went to see Mr. MacDonald to borrow the 
 money from him. He had been called to New 
 Orleans by the death of his sister-in-law," said 
 the Colonel at length. 
 
 Jerome started. Maxine's mother was dead. 
 A throb of warm sympathy for the girl in her 
 
The Girdle of tHE Great 69 
 
 grief leaped out of his heart. Like a wireless 
 telegram it flashed out and out through the long 
 leagues; and mayhap her shadowed heart read 
 its message in warm waves of light. For who 
 can say that there is not a strange, silent telpher- 
 age between heart and heart? 
 
 "Do you really think you could get the money 
 from Mr. MacDonald?" asked Mrs. Watkins, 
 anxiously. "He's said to be a hard man about 
 money matters." 
 
 "There's little doubt of it. The estate is suf- 
 ficient security for more than the amount of the 
 mortgage. I'd rather be in MacDonald's hands, 
 even if he is a little close, than to be in the 
 mouth of that shark — that Shy lock with his can- 
 nibalistic craving for a pound of flesh." The 
 Colonel pushed off his chair, and sat gazing medi- 
 tatively into space, a troubled expression in his 
 blue eyes. 
 
 "And even if I should fail in that," he con- 
 tinued, after thoughtful silence, "there will be 
 money enough left from the sale of the estate to 
 buy a small farm." 
 
 The chivalrous old Colonel had spoken with- 
 out due regard. He was so accustomed to honor 
 that he never looked for duplicity in the lives of 
 his fellows. He was so familiar with the knights 
 of the Old South that he forgot the knaves of the 
 Nezv. It never occurred to him, for instance, 
 that Dr. Allen might in some shrewd way so 
 manage the sale of the estate as to leave no bal- 
 ance. 
 
 Jerome, however, was less sanguine, "Sup- 
 
70 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 pose there should be no balance, father ?" he sug- 
 gested. 
 
 "Why, what do you mean, my son?" 
 
 "That Doctor Allen might arrange to buy the 
 estate at the price of the mortgage — " 
 
 "Impossible," interrupted the Colonel, "that 
 would be conspiracy to defraud." 
 
 Jerome had too much respect for his father to 
 enter into a controversy with him, so he let the 
 matter drop. But he strongly suspected that Dr. 
 Allen and Mr. MacDonald were, in many mat- 
 ters, "hand-in-glove." 
 
 They had all risen from the breakfast table 
 and were standing about the fire, as was their 
 custom, when old Sam entered, announcing the 
 presence of Dr. Allen on the veranda. A dark 
 frown clouded the Colonel's brow; he bit his lip 
 fiercely. He was tempted to order the Doctor 
 from his premises. But sense of hospitality as- 
 serted itself. The Colonel was, first of all, a 
 gentleman — a gentleman of the old regime — and 
 he could not be discourteous in his own house, 
 even to an enemy. He had never expressed con- 
 tempt for the meanest of his guests. Moreover, 
 the Doctor had been his family physician, and 
 whatever the Colonel's present attitude might be, 
 he was not ungrateful for former favors. He 
 resolved, therefore, to be respectful, if frigidly 
 formal. 
 
 "Mornin', sir, come in to the fire," he said with 
 stately dignity, as he opened the hall door and 
 gazed down upon the sturdy form of the little 
 Doctor. 
 
 "No, thank you," the Doctor replied. "I re- 
 
The Girdle of the Great 71 
 
 fused the servant's invitation. I just stopped 
 by a minute on business — about the — er — mort- 
 gage. I would like if possible to leave you in 
 possession of Riverwood." The Doctor drew 
 nearer to the Colonel and continued in a lowered 
 tone: "I've just learned this morning that you 
 have a claim on the Brandon place — a claim 
 which antedates the mortgage held by Mr. Mac- 
 Donald. Is it true?" 
 
 "It is," replied the Colonel, laconically. 
 
 "Then if you'll make it over to me, you may 
 continue in possession of Riverwood," said the 
 Doctor obsequiously. "I'm very anxious to have 
 the Brandon place because it adjoins my prop- 
 erty." 
 
 "You do not know that the title to the estate is 
 involved? You are not informed of legal techni- 
 calities, which, however, much we may regret 
 them, prevent either Mr. MacDonald or myself 
 from obtaining full possession." 
 
 The Colonel's keen blue eyes darted through 
 the little Doctor. 
 
 The Doctor grew red in the face till he seemed 
 on the verge of apoplexy. "I assure you, sir, 
 that I did not know it," he stammered, giving one 
 of his side-whiskers a vigorous twist. "I only 
 thought to relieve you of your distress." 
 
 "Riverwood is indeed a distressful possession," 
 observed the Colonel, deliberately knocking over 
 the Doctor's straw man of studied sympathy ; "so 
 much so, indeed, that it is to be exposed for sale 
 at public auction." 
 
 "Well, business is business," said the Doctor 
 impatiently. 
 
7^ The Girdle of the Great 
 
 "And rascality is rascality," thundered the 
 Colonel, his eyes blazing, his lips quivering with 
 rage. 
 
 "What do you mean, sir ?" retorted the Doctor. 
 
 "Precisely what I say," snapped the Colonel. 
 
 "You're grossly misjudging me, sir," inter- 
 posed the Doctor. "It has always been my pur- 
 pose to do the square thing. I meant to retain 
 you as a tenant, but — " 
 
 That was too much for the man whose aristo- 
 cratic forebears had held, as barons hold, the 
 fertile acres of River wood. With a movement 
 marvelously swift for one of his age the Colonel's 
 long arm shot out, and striking the Doctor 
 squarely between the eyes, sent him sprawling 
 backward to the bottom of the steps. 
 
 "Thus I deal with gamesters!" cried the 
 Colonel, white with rage. "Thus I deal with 
 those who dare to gamble with my honor !" 
 
 The Doctor speedily scrambled to his feet with 
 a pistol in his hand. "Coward !" he gasped, cock- 
 ing the weapon and drawing it on a level with 
 the Colonel's heart. "Prepare to die !" 
 
 "I have looked death in the face before to-day 
 and have not faltered; I'm always prepared to 
 die," was the cool retort. The Colonel folded his 
 arms across his breast and gazed unflinchingly 
 into the Doctor's shifty eyes. Something in the 
 fine hauteur of the princely figure, or the splen- 
 did scorn of the noble features, strangely awed 
 the Doctor. 
 
 Determined, however, if possible, to frighten 
 the Colonel, he repeated the requirement, ac- 
 
The Girdle of the Great 73 
 
 centuating it by drawing still nearer with the 
 pistol held unswervingly to its course. 
 
 "Prepare to die!"' he repeated, but quick as a 
 flash the Colonel kicked the weapon from his 
 hand, and, springing down the steps, closed with 
 him in a desperate struggle. 
 
 A moment later the door opened behind them 
 and Jerome rushed on the scene. Almost at the 
 same instant Gabriel was seen running up the 
 avenue from where, seated in his father's buggy, 
 he had watched the entire proceeding. He came 
 with lowered head — with the snort and frenzied 
 fury of a maddened bull. As he drew nearer, 
 Jerome caught the gleam of a long, keen knife 
 in his hand. Jerome knew only too well what 
 that meant. With a bound he grasped the pistol 
 which lay a few feet from the struggling men 
 and barred Gabriel's way. 
 
 "Stop! or I shoot," he shouted. But Gabriel 
 paid no more heed to him than he would have 
 paid to his shadpw. Having firmly gripped his 
 cowardice in a desperate dash to deliver his 
 father, he could not be easily turned from his 
 purpose. In truth, his reason was temporarily 
 throttled, and he came on and on, his eyes burn- 
 ing, his breath whistling hoarsely through his 
 nostrils. 
 
 "Stop!" shouted Jerome once more when Ga- 
 briel was but a few yards distant. It only served 
 to increase his speed. And suddenly taking 
 deadly aim, Jerome pulled the trigger. The pis- 
 tol snapped. Again he pulled, and again it 
 snapped. Gabriel was almost upon him. Al- 
 ready the knife was poised for the fatal, cleaving 
 
74 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 thrust. A furious curse rose from Gabriel's 
 frothing lips. Jerome desperately pulled the 
 trigger, but all in vain. 
 
 Desperate dilemmas demand desperate deeds. 
 Quickly recalling an old practice which had often 
 enabled him to win the bases in the games of 
 ball, Jerome made a swift, sliding swoop to- 
 wards Gabriel's feet. By happy fortune, he 
 caught him firmly around the legs and brought 
 him heavily to the ground, the knife plunging 
 hilt deep in the soft soil. Before the enraged 
 youth could recover from the shock, Jerome had 
 wheeled and was upon him with the strength 
 and courage born of splendid manhood and su- 
 preme need. 
 
 Gabriel wriggled futily in the firm grasp. Sud- 
 denly his courage deserted him and Jerome had 
 his way with him. 
 
 The Doctor, too, came out somewhat the worse 
 for wear. He had taunted the old lion of River- 
 wood once too often. Perhaps the artful physi- 
 cian did not know that, gold emblazoned on an 
 ancient shield hidden away in the Colonel's gar- 
 ret, was this inscription : "Peacably if possible, 
 forcibly if necessary." 
 
 As for Gabriel and his father, they never dared 
 to climb their family tree for fear of breaking a 
 rotten limb. They returned to Rocky Heights, 
 however, determined to compass land and sea to 
 accomplish the downfall and utter ruin of the 
 Watkinses. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 75 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE FORECLOSURE OF THE MORTGAGE. 
 
 A funeral is scarcely sadder than the fore- 
 closure of a mortgage on an old and time- 
 honored estate. Little by little the owners help- 
 lessly — sometimes hopelessly — reconcile them- 
 selves to the loss, attending the sale as they 
 would attend the last obsequies of a departed 
 relative. And the final crash of the auctioneer's 
 hammer is like the thud of clods on the coffin. 
 For the place that once knew its master may 
 know him no more forever; and he is like the 
 grass of his fields. 
 
 Colonel Watkins and Jerome had arrived early 
 at Anson ville. In fact, before the earliest riser 
 among the villages had peered forth to see what 
 manner of day it was, the rattle of their buggy 
 wheels had been heard on the frozen street. The 
 Colonel had come early for two reasons : first be- 
 cause he wished to hold a short conference with 
 Mr. MacDonald; secondly because he wanted to 
 show the people that he was neither ashamed nor 
 afraid to face his fate. On the red fields of bat- 
 tle he had never flinched nor fled from his place ; 
 and he would not do it now. The same in- 
 domitable strain compelled Jerome like a long 
 lever protruding through the mist of centuries. 
 
y6 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 There had been touching scenes at Riverwood 
 that morning. Not the least among them being 
 the generosity of Old Sam. He had risen long 
 before anyone else to harness and hitch their 
 horse. 
 
 "Marse Dick," he had said, approaching the 
 Colonel as they started to drive off, "we all 's in 
 de far uv tribulashun. You fust an' fo'must. 
 You needs holdin' up. De old nigger's gwineter 
 do de bes' he kin fer ye. I'se bin layin' up dis 
 money fer er long time — " he removed a well- 
 worn shot-bag from his coat and handed it to 
 the Colonel— "Tek hit an' use hit. De old nig- 
 ger kaint do no mo' dan gib yar all he's got." 
 
 Both the Colonel and Jerome had been greatly 
 moved by the old man's devotion ; and he had 
 seemed hurt because they refused his offering. 
 He could not realize that his mite would not 
 prove powerful in lifting the mortgage. His 
 spirit was great enough to lift mountains. 
 
 Twelve o'clock, the hour appointed for the sale, 
 was almost at hand. A 'small crowd had gath- 
 ered before the front door of the old-fashioned, 
 square-cornered court house. Nearby a giant 
 oak towered up, rough and ragged with winter 
 — a solitary sentinel at the Temple of Justice. 
 The tree's frowning shadow fell upon the group 
 of men at its feet, as if the sale were destined to 
 be a travesty of Justice. 
 
 The Colonel and Jerome stood directly beneath 
 the oak. Some distance away, near the court 
 house steps, stood Gabriel and Dr. Allen, still 
 wearing the signs of their recent encounter. 
 
 The Colonel's conference with Mr. Mac- 
 
" ' Wliat am I offered as a starter for tlie estate of 
 R'verwood ?' the auctioneer bawled." 
 
 Faring /'ii.ar 11 
 
The Girdle of the Great 'jj 
 
 Donald had been formal and fruitless. The 
 banker was coolly courteous. He had once been 
 warmly so — when the Colonel's bank account was 
 large. Mr. MacDonald made it clear to the 
 Colonel that he did not care to loan any money on 
 real estate with the present condition of the cot- 
 ton market. 
 
 Suddenly a little hollow-eyed, sallow-faced, 
 lantern-jawed fellow popped up on the court 
 house steps like a jack-in-the-box and read the 
 notice of the sale. He needed no introduction — 
 he was the real estate undertaker, and he seemed 
 to take a peculiar funereal pleasure in his profes- 
 sion. He was the tool or the fool (the terms are 
 synonymous) of Doctor Allen, and occupied his 
 spare time in soliciting notes for the shaving par- 
 lors of that artful financial barber. 
 
 "What am I offered as a starter for the estate 
 of Riverwood?" the auctioneer bawded. He 
 scrupulously avoided any reference to the pecu- 
 liar merits of the plantation. 
 
 "$2,ooo!" cried a heavily built man, who had 
 just been talking with Doctor Allen. 
 
 "$2,ooo — $2,000 — $2,000 — who'll make it 
 three?" cried the auctioneer. 
 
 "$3,000," rang out a voice from a far corner 
 of the crowd. The Doctor chuckled. Things 
 were running smoothly in the grooves he had 
 fashioned — and few would ever be the wiser. 
 
 "$3,500," quickly cried the first bidder. 
 
 "$4,000," chimed in the second. 
 
 "$4,500," cried another. 
 
 "$5,000," roared the heavy man. It was the 
 
78 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 amount of the mortgage and a bland smile of 
 satisfaction stole over the Doctor's face. 
 
 "$5,ooo. Are you all done?" called the auc- 
 tioneer in a sepulchral tone. 
 
 A prolonged silence ensued. "$5,000, once," 
 he continued, "$5,000, twice, $5,000 three times 
 and—" 
 
 "$6,000," rose a voice with a Northern accent 
 from the extreme edge of the crowd. Dr. Allen 
 pricked up his ears and gazed fearfully toward 
 a neatly-dressed middle-aged man, who had 
 silently approached from the direction of the 
 depot. Suddenly the blood left the Doctor's face, 
 and an expression of fear dulled his eyes. 
 
 Ananias Blake, the auctioneer, was well nigh 
 paralyzed. His sallow face became a sickly 
 green. His hollow eyes, as he swung his lan- 
 tern-jawed features toward Doctor Allen, had 
 in them a certain fishy stare. His hesitancy and 
 helpless attitude said plainly enough to Doctor 
 Allen: "And now what?" 
 
 The Doctor, realizing the danger of the situa- 
 tion, shot him a withering glance. "Go on," he 
 cried angrily, "what's the matter with you?" 
 
 "$6,000 — who'll say seven?" stammered An- 
 nanias, actually showing a stain of red in his 
 earth-colored face. 
 
 "$7,000," called the large man, who had been 
 consulting with the Doctor. 
 
 The Doctor himself had suddenly found it 
 necessary to go over to the Bank to see Mr. Mac- 
 Donald. 
 
 "Eight thousand!" promptly bid the stranger. 
 
 Another pause. Ananias began to show re- 
 
The Girdle of the Great -79 
 
 newed signs of palsy. He quickly found his 
 tongue when the Doctor's agent raised the bid 
 to nine. 
 
 ''Nine thousand dollars; are you all done? 
 Nine thousand once, nine thousand twice — " 
 
 "Twelve !" said the stranger in a voice per- 
 fectly calm and self-possessed, but with a deter- 
 mination to end the matter. 
 
 The crowd gazed agape at him. 
 
 Ananias's eyes bulged out of their hollows and 
 his lantern-jaws hung low. He stared helplessly 
 at the big man, who was acting as the Doctor's 
 agent, and the big man stared helplessly at him. 
 They were evidently unprepared for this bomb. 
 It was two thousand dollars beyond the agent's 
 limit. Both of them gazed longingly toward the 
 Bank across the way. But the Doctor was not 
 forthcoming. 
 
 "Call ther bid!" cried Jeffreys, the ferryman 
 who happened to be present. "What's ther mat- 
 ter with ye?" Three or four sti'irdy farmers in- 
 stantly bore up the demand, pushing their way 
 vigorously to the front. "Things hez got ter be 
 done square here," one said meaningly, "we 
 aint a-goin' ter stand no injestice." 
 
 "I'm sick — and can't proceed," whined Ana- 
 nias, wiping clammy sweat from his brow. His 
 complexion was corpse-like. His eyes were like 
 those of a dead fish. 
 
 "Got ter consult ther Doctor, hey?" cried Jef- 
 freys, catching up a limb which had fallen from 
 the oak. "Well, I reckon ye'll perceed, er I'll 
 perceed. Ye've fergot that yer namesake wuz 
 struck dead fer liein' erbout Ian.' " 
 
8o The Girdle of the Great 
 
 Gabriel and the big agent stared helplessly at 
 each other. The crowd was against them, and 
 they did not dare to interfere. 
 
 Ananias looked frantically about for a way of 
 escape. He also sent a tense thought of appeal 
 toward the distant Bank. The Doctor was still 
 invisible. 
 
 "Go on!" shouted the bystanders, rushing up. 
 
 "Twelve thousand dollars," he faltered. "Are 
 you all done ? Twelve thousand dollars once ; 
 twelve thousand dollars twice ; twelve thousand 
 dollars three times and sold to" — 
 
 Ananias paused and stared stupidly at the 
 stranger. 
 
 "Creighton Graves," supplied the stranger 
 with a twinkle of humor in his gray eyes. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 8i 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE NEW WOMAN AND THE NEW MAN. 
 
 "You may occupy Riverwood as long as you 
 wish, sir," said Mr. Creighton Graves, in re- 
 sponse to the Colonel's inquiry as to when pos- 
 session was desired. "I shall ride over to-mor- 
 row and see the property. Meanwhile, sir, make 
 yourself perfectly at ease. I have a very favor- 
 able proposition which I shall then submit to 
 you." 
 
 "And now," he concluded, cordially extending 
 his hand, "I must excuse myself to settle that 
 mortgage held by Doctor — Doctor — Doctor Al- 
 len." 
 
 "I am very grateful for your kindness, sir," 
 said the Colonel warmly; "and I shall be ready 
 to ride with you over the plantation." "At any 
 rate, Jerome," the Colonel remarked as they 
 turned away, "we shall deal with a gentleman. 
 And I am never afraid of a gentleman. He's the 
 same in the dark that he is in the light ; he'll deal 
 no foul blows. North or South, a gentleman's 
 a gentleman." 
 
 Jerome made no immediate reply. There was 
 a mystery about the purchase of the estate by the 
 stranger which he was essaying to solve. How 
 could this naturally disinterested party have 
 
82 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 learned of the sale of the property? and why 
 was he so generous in offering them an in- 
 definite occupancy ? Ponder as he would, Jerome 
 could not unlock the door to this mystery — 
 even with skeleton-key of acute mental concen- 
 tration. "Yes, father," he said at length, "I am 
 glad, too, that he seems to be a gentleman. It 
 is pleasant to deal with a man of warmth and 
 courtesy. I only hope that he is not deceiving 
 us." 
 
 "I know one when I see him," returned the 
 Colonel. I've had so much experience with paste 
 diamonds that I know the real glitter." 
 
 They were passing a small grocery-store, and 
 the air being raw and penetrating, Jerome pre- 
 vailed upon his father to go in and remain by 
 the fire, while he went on for their horse and 
 buggy. 
 
 On the way to the livery-stable it was neces- 
 sary to pass Mr. MacDonald's house. The 
 banker had built it with a view to bachelorhood. 
 And he had built into it much of his own moral 
 and physical likeness. It looked selfish and sour. 
 The yellow lawn seemed to have wrinkled and 
 contracted within itself. From the narrow win- 
 dows of the house, one gained but a stingy, sor- 
 did view of the world through starving, stunted 
 shrubs and trees. No hot-house for plants and 
 flowers was apparent. The master of the house 
 had neither time nor taste for such unprofitable 
 possessions. 
 
 In a distant corner of the yard, however, a 
 pigeon-box presented an animated scene of 
 parti-colored birds. It was another testimony 
 
The Girdle of the Great 83 
 
 to the fact that every man has his hobby. The 
 banker's hobby was squahs-on-toast. 
 
 Jerome, being in no particular hurry, and also 
 something of a fowl- fancier, paused at a con- 
 venient angle to observe a pair of fan-tailed 
 pigeons. As he stood contemplating them, a 
 woman, whom he supposed to be a servant, 
 turned the corner of the house and approached 
 the pigeon-box. The birds flew eagerly down 
 to pick up the grain which she threw out. In a 
 moment she turned toward Jerome, and he recog- 
 nized her with a start. 
 
 "Maxine!" he cried. 
 
 "Mr. Watkins!" she gasped. 
 
 He vaulted the fence and was quickly at her 
 side. 
 
 "When did you come?" he queried softly, 
 pressing her hand in his strong grasp. He noted 
 that she was all the more beautiful for her sad- 
 ness, and that black brought her fair face into a 
 delicate, delightful relief — a rose amid ebony. 
 
 "Day before yesterday," she answered sadly, 
 her voice quavering, tears trembling in her eyes. 
 "I shall live here with my uncle — he's all I have 
 left now, and — " 
 
 "Maxine," he broke in, tightening his grasp 
 upon her fingers, "my heart bled for you then. 
 It bleeds for you now — hungers for your love. 
 And all the more because you have lifted your 
 love beyond its reach. 
 
 "River wood was sold to-day — a stranger 
 bought it. It may be several years before I can 
 accomplish what you have set for me. Perhaps 
 never." 
 
 / 
 
84 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 "But you must," she insisted. "And we must 
 get out of this wind. It is very cold." 
 
 She led the way into the parlor where a cheer- 
 ful fire glowed in the grate. 
 
 He repeated the encounter with Aliens and the 
 incident of the sale in which the auctioneer 
 Ananias Blake had so plainly betrayed his al- 
 legiance to them. 
 
 She listened attentively, her bosom heaving, 
 her eyes aflame now and then. "And did my 
 uncle refuse to lend you the money?" she said 
 finally. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Ah, it's the old weakness," she sighed. "He 
 couldn't see a profit in it. There has been only 
 one in our family who loved knowledge better 
 than he loved gold ; and his picture was never 
 hung in our hall." 
 
 "You say the purchaser, Mr. Creighton 
 Graves, is going to Riverwood to-morrow?" she 
 continued, looking away from him into the fire 
 that she might not betray the secret by her ex- 
 pression. 
 
 "Yes — and he's the mystery to me," replied 
 Jerome. "How did he happen to come down to 
 the sale? what interest has he in us anyway that 
 he bids my father remain at Riverwood indefi- 
 nitely? I confess I don't understand it. Do 
 you?" _ 
 
 Maxine shrank from this pointed question. 
 She did not wish to speak falsely ; neither did she 
 care to confess her complicity in the matter. That 
 would only serve to humiliate him — perhaps to 
 drive him from her. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 85 
 
 "Possibly he may be on the lookout for a win- 
 ter-resort, or a gold-mine," she suggested, still 
 studying the coals in the grate. 
 
 **In the latter case he's seeking to solve a mys- 
 tery as great as himself," he replied. "I do not 
 know of any gold hereabout." 
 
 "I do not know what proposition he's going to 
 make my father," he ran on. "At any rate I 
 shall not be able to enter college in the spring — 
 perhaps not the next fall, nor the next, nor the 
 next. I cannot leave my father overburdened. 
 That would be as despicable as a college-course 
 is desirable." 
 
 "And, Maxine," he said with sudden im- 
 patience," is Love something to be kept her- 
 metically sealed in one's heart for four years? 
 Does it like wine become better and sweeter with 
 age?" He caught her hands in his and gazed 
 hungrily into the placid depths of her blue eyes. 
 
 "Jerome," she answered, dwelling tenderly 
 upon his name, "I have dreamed for you great 
 things — noble deeds and strong. I have wished 
 that you might go to college not for what four 
 years can supply but for what they can suggest. 
 To many education means a finished course — a 
 scroll of sheepskin — a gift in gilt; to you it 
 should mean infinitely more than this ; the begin- 
 ning of strength, the Girdle of the Great. 
 
 "Many young men go to college in love, and 
 becoming interested in the pursuit of knowledge, 
 outgrow the old ideal. It is well. It is the sign 
 of strength. Alany, on the contrary, sacrifice 
 their future for a sickly sentiment, which after- 
 wards dies. That is the dead level — the burying- 
 
86 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 ground of manhood. I love you too well to drag 
 you down to that." 
 
 "To drag me down to that?" he echoed. 
 "You've kindled the noblest aspirations that ever 
 burned in my soul ! You could not do otherwise 
 than uplift me. I would stake my life upon 
 it." 
 
 "The wings that teach the young eagles how to 
 fly must not fetter them in their flight," she re- 
 plied with seeming irrelevancy. 
 
 "Among primitive folk," she ran on, "the hero 
 appealed to his heroine with trophies of the chase, 
 and sterner, bloodier trophies swinging at his 
 belt. These were the badges of physical prowess 
 — the bagatelles of brutes. We have made com- 
 mercial progress: the gory fleece has become 
 golden fleece. To-day we stand upon the thres- 
 hold of true progress. He who in the future 
 shall approach to ask in marriage the heart and 
 hand of the educated woman must come with 
 his manhood girt about with moral and intel- 
 lectual trophies — and the woman must be worthy 
 to receive them." 
 
 Jerome gazed upon the girl with almost open- 
 mouthed wonder. Her brilliancy — the fine scorn 
 of her language when directed against commer- 
 cialism — her prophetic foresight, all these over- 
 whelmed him. 
 
 "So you condemn me as a Philistine — as one 
 unlearned?" he said at last, a great burden on 
 his heart, "for I have brought you neither gold 
 nor learning — only the love old as Eden." 
 
 She started to reply, but the sound of ap- 
 proaching footsteps caught her ear. A voice 
 
The Girdle of the Great 87 
 
 was heard — one that Jerome recognized — Ga- 
 briel Allen's voice. He was with Mr. MacDonald, 
 and they were coming up the walk. 
 
 "You must go now," said Maxine, touching 
 Jerome gently on the sleeve; "they mustn't see 
 us together — sometime I'll explain." She hur- 
 ried him through the portiere, down the hall, 
 thence out the way he had entered. 
 
 "Good-bye," she whispered, pressing his hand, 
 "and don't forget what I have said." 
 
 And Jerome, wondering what it all meant, 
 leaped the low wall and went on to the livery- 
 stable. 
 
88 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 REVELATIONS AT RIVERWOOD. 
 
 True to his word, IMr. Creighton Graves, after 
 a sleepless night, set out for Riverwood. (In 
 fact, the hostelry beds were so hard that one 
 might have been said to board there in at least 
 two senses.) He was an average-sized, well- 
 built man. His clothes never failed to fit him 
 perfectly. His features were strong and agree- 
 able, his keen gray eyes giving him the appear- 
 ance of a discerning man of affairs. But while 
 his entire expression betrayed excellent judgment 
 and tireless energy, it was devoid of the fox-like 
 cunning which characterized the features of Dr. 
 Allen and Mr. Hector AlacDonald. 
 
 Colonel Watkins had instinctively spoken 
 truthfully in saying that Mr. Creighton Graves 
 was a gentleman. For he was worthy of that 
 appellation, having ever borne himself with be- 
 coming decorum through the currents which 
 rushed dangerously between the Scylla and 
 Charybdis of Social and Commercial life. 
 
 He had received Maxine's letter just in time 
 to reach Anson ville on the day of the sale. 
 
 In the Colonel he had found just such a man 
 as the postscript to Maxine's letter had suggested 
 —a warm-hearted, high-strung, high-toned gen- 
 
The GikDLE of iUe Grea^ ^ 
 
 tlertian of the old regime. Nor had he been far 
 wrong in his speculative estimate of Dr. Allen. 
 He had pictured a leech and found a vampire — a 
 difference of degrees. 
 
 His interview with Allen had been brief — just 
 long enough to transact the necessary business — • 
 but something about the Doctor's face had 
 seemed faintly familiar. The Doctor had been 
 nervous and ill at ease. With Mr. MacDonald 
 Mr. Graves had simply shaken hands. The 
 banker betrayed no sign of ever having heard of 
 him — a fact for which he was profoundly grate- 
 ful. This would render Maxine's secret more 
 secure. And while it was an altogether worthy 
 secret, Mr. Creighton Graves was not sorry for 
 it to be well guarded. 
 
 Having met Jerome, he had filled out the un- 
 written lines in Maxine's letter. Though pos- 
 sessing the proper appreciation of a romance, 
 Mr. Graves had ifo disposition to figure in one 
 conspicuously at his time of life. He proposed, 
 however, to do everything possible for his old 
 friend's daughter; and with him that always 
 meant much. 
 
 It was cloudy when Mr. Creighton Graves and 
 his driver left Ansonville; by the time they 
 reached Riverwood it was snowing. The air was 
 raw and chilly. But he was warmly welcomed. 
 Old Sam, his black face aglow with hospitality 
 and his strong white teeth agleam, stood ready to 
 take the horse, and later to bear off the colored 
 boy who had driven Mr. Graves over. The 
 Colonel, Jerome and his younger brothers all 
 came forward to greet the stranger, the mother 
 
go The Girdle of the GREAf 
 
 being busy in the dining room. He was ushered 
 into a great room where a roaring open fire 
 leaped merrily up the black throat of the wide 
 old-fashioned fire-place. In the soft ruby glow 
 the polished brass-andirons gleamed like bur- 
 nished gold. And every piece of the antique fur- 
 niture, from the big black mohair lounge in the 
 corner to the ancient oil-paintings on the high 
 walls, shone with a rich, resplendent light. 
 Everything bespoke elegance and refinement. In- 
 deed, Mr. Creighton Graves rightly suspected 
 that before him was more than one heirloom and 
 hall-mark of colonial civilization. 
 
 As the hours passed he was the recipient of 
 the most unstrained and unstudied hospitality. 
 Not once was he reminded by the least word or 
 the slightest suggestion that he was a Northerner. 
 He could not have been made more at ease if he 
 had been a Southerner of the bluest blood. Nor 
 was the attitude of his host in the least obsequious 
 or patronizing. It was the true, old-fashioned 
 Southern style — a hospitality with heart in it. 
 
 Colonel Watkins did not, as most naturally he 
 might have done, suggest that they had probably 
 fought on opposite sides in the war. Perhaps 
 that colossal conflict would not have been men- 
 tioned at all had not Mr. Graves, partly out of 
 curiosity, taken from the mantel the pistol which 
 Doctor Allen had neglected to carry off on the 
 day of the difficulty. 
 
 "This recalls a stirring incident in my life. 
 Colonel," he said, holding up the pistol. "And by 
 the way let me see if it is empty, for most people 
 
The Girdle of the Great 91 
 
 killed by pistols nowadays are killed by un- 
 loaded ones." 
 
 "I can vouch for it being unloaded, sir," said 
 Jerome. And inwardly he rejoiced that it had 
 been unloaded on the day of his encounter with 
 Gabriel Allen; for he wanted no man's blood on 
 his hands. 
 
 "Well, as I was going to say," continued Mr. 
 Graves, "I was Major of a regiment. In the 
 battle at Bull Run (and you whipped us there 
 and did it well, too, Colonel) I was desperately — 
 it was thought mortally — wounded and left for 
 dead on the field. 
 
 "Night came on and still I was unremoved, our 
 men having fled panic-stricken back to Wash- 
 ington. I was in great agony, being consumed 
 by burning thirst. I finally prayed for death to 
 end my sufferings, having given up all hope of 
 human aid. Suddenly my attention was arrested 
 by a stealthy step, and raising my head with in- 
 tense pain a few inches from the ground, I be- 
 held in the pale moonlight one of those human 
 vultures, who follow the battle-fields, silently 
 robbing the dead. Weak as I was, my blood 
 boiled at the sight and I resolved if possible to 
 resist his loathsome touch. Somewhat strength- 
 ened bv this resolution, I attempted to reach m^y 
 pistol, but the effort re-opened my wound and I 
 sank back exhausted. 
 
 "Finally the ghoul stood over me and prodded 
 me sharply with his sword to ascertain if I were 
 dead. I cried out. calling him a coward, and he 
 cursed me, drawing his weapon to run me 
 through. He would doubtless have accom- 
 
g2 The Girdle of the GREAt 
 
 plished his purpose, had not a nearby sound of 
 hurrying footsteps burst on his ears. Suspecting 
 that he might need it, he bent over quickly and 
 removed my pistol, and turning, fled like a 
 hyena into the dark. 
 
 "My deliverer proved to be a Confederate cap- 
 tain. I was so weakened by loss of blood that 
 I must have fainted shortly after his arrival ; for 
 I remember only that his voice was soft and 
 sympathetic — strikingly like yours, Colonel — • 
 and that he wore the epaulets of a Captain of 
 Infantry. When I regained consciousness, he 
 was pressing a canteen of cool water to my lips 
 (how delightful it was!). Later he gave me 
 some brandy and bound up my wound" — 
 
 "Why, what is the matter. Colonel?" IMr. 
 Graves exclaimed, dropping the thread of his 
 narrative, "are you sick"? 
 
 The Colonel's face was indeed calculated to 
 inspire surprise. It was written all over with 
 wonder. "Why, you are my Yankee Major!" he 
 cried, bounding to his feet. 
 
 "And you — are my Confederate Captain!" 
 
 For a moment they confronted each other, 
 half-credulously, then a wave of recognition 
 broke over either face. 
 
 Suddenly the Northerner contradicted the 
 theory concerning the phlegmatic disposition of 
 his people ; he gathered the tall Southerner in a 
 crushing, brotherly embrace. There was noth- 
 ing maudlin in it. It was magnificent. It was 
 manly. It was prophetic. And the swirling 
 snow, sweeping over field and forest, was typical 
 of the white wings of peace. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 93 
 
 "Did you ever notice how many important 
 things hinge on the seemingly insignificant, 
 Colonel?" said Major Graves at length. "Who 
 would ever have thought, for instance, that this 
 reunion and recognition would have been brought 
 about by such a trivial thing as the sight of an 
 old army pistol? I came very near not noticing 
 it at all." 
 
 "And this pistol, too," he ran on, examining the 
 weapon more closely, "is quite similar to the one 
 taken from me on that memorable night. And if, 
 like the famed Alladin's lamp, it would enable me 
 to discover also my ghoul" — the Major spoke 
 playfully, smiling at the interest instantly depicted 
 on the faces of the boys — "I would indeed con- 
 sider it most wonderful." He instinctively 
 turned the heavy handle to the right, disclosing a 
 secret spring which, upon being pressed, caused 
 the pistol to open, revealing in the handle a space 
 large enough to contain a half-dollar piece. His 
 hands trembled, his eyes widened with wonder 
 and incredulity. The color left his face — he was 
 gazing upon the miniature photograph of his 
 wife. A tear brimmed in his eye and coursed 
 swiftly down his strong face. For a moment he 
 looked aged and broken. Then he passed the 
 photograph to the Colonel. "That is a picture of 
 my wife who died while I was away," he gasped. 
 "This is the pistol that was taken from me at 
 Bull Run." 
 
 "What!" cried the Colonel, "that pistol yours!" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Incredible," exclaimed the Colonel, returning 
 the miniature, "and yet it must be true." 
 
94 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 "Who did you say claimed this pistol?" asked 
 Major Graves, scarcely crediting what he had 
 seen and heard. 
 
 "Doctor Allen — he brought it over here the 
 other day to bully me. Leaving slightly worsted, 
 he forgot to take it back with him." 
 
 "Then he may be the ghoul who robbed me. 
 I thought I had seen him before, though I could 
 not recall when and where." 
 
 Then Major Graves tenderly enclosed the pho- 
 tograph in a bit of tissue paper and placed it in 
 his wallet. "The world is full of strange things," 
 he observed, "and almost every day I am offered 
 stronger evidence that truth is stranger than fic- 
 tion." 
 
 Just then the dinner-bell rang. 
 
 To thoroughly enjoy a good dinner, such as 
 was set for Major Creighton Graves on this oc- 
 casion, it is necessary to dismiss from one's mind 
 all mental, moral and marvelous pabulum, and to 
 become simply a good animal. This all the diners, 
 with the exception of Jerome, apparently suc- 
 ceeded in doing. There was some mystery for 
 whose solution he was, according to the most con- 
 servative estimate, nothing less than over- 
 anxious: the mystery of Major Graves' presence 
 on the day of the sale. 
 
 And when the Colonel and his guest finally 
 walked out on the veranda to observe the condi- 
 tion of the weather, Jerome went too. Perhaps 
 some suggestion — some hint — might slip the 
 leash of secrecy, if secrecy there were. 
 
 It had stopped snowing. The sun, bursting 
 through the clouds, shone for a few moments on 
 
The Girdle of the Great 95 
 
 the wide, white world, and on the mighty river 
 winding through its ermine hills like wine of 
 gold from a broken cruse of alabaster. 
 
 "A beautiful vista," observed Major Graves, 
 as his eyes, kindling with admiration, wandered 
 over the spotless stretch of field and valley, bor- 
 dered by the black bastions of the lowering 
 clouds. "We can't ride over the estate to-day, as 
 we are snugly snowed in, but I shall see it at 
 some future time. Indeed, the most rigid re- 
 quirement I shall make of you — the Major 
 winked at Jerome — is room and board while I am 
 down here on a fishing tour every summer. And 
 if you, when you accompany me in my Izaak 
 Walton peregrinations, don't string more fish 
 than you do sharks, I'll immediately foreclose 
 my mortgage." He emphasized the statement by 
 gently tightening his grasp upon the Colonel's 
 arm. 
 
 "Seriously, sir," said the Colonel laughing, 
 "how did you learn that I had fallen a victim to 
 your shark?" 
 
 Jerome's dark eyes glistened. He could have 
 hugged his father for asking that question. 
 
 "It may be," the merchant answered slyly, 
 looking off toward the river, "that a merchant- 
 man like me sometimes finds it necessary to har- 
 poon in foreign waters. For instance, when our 
 schools of sharks become scarce in New York 
 City, we must seek them elsewhere. In other 
 words, we must keep our hands — our hooks — 
 in." 
 
 Jerome's castle of hope fell with a crash — the 
 Major was a diplomat. 
 
g6 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 "You Yankees beat the earth in the art of serv- 
 ing diplomatic dishes — half-truths with sauce; 
 suppositions in the shell." The Colonel's face 
 beamed with mischievous merriment. 
 
 "And you Southerners," retorted the Major 
 good naturedly, "never know any better than to 
 take the shells and sauce seriously." 
 
 "Oh. come on, let's go in to the fire," said the 
 Colonel, taking his guest affectionately by the 
 arm. "We did our sparring thirty-odd years 
 ago ; and we gave each other then a plenitude of 
 shells and pepper-sauce." 
 
 Long after the others had retired, two old men 
 might have been seen, still shooting inquiries at 
 each other through a thick fog of cigar-smoke. 
 
 "The Negro Problem," said the Major, after 
 a brief interval of suggestive silence. "What do 
 you do with it down here?" 
 
 "We leave what is left of it to fools and 
 fanatics," drawled the Colonel. "And the fools 
 and fanatics we leave to Jerry Holmes. Really, 
 sir, there is no Negro Problem. Occasionally we 
 have a problematic negro. We are not bothering 
 our heads with any problems just now. Such 
 things like the laws of the universe adjust them- 
 selves. It is as fixed as the decrees of the Eter- 
 nal that the white man shall remain a white man 
 and the negro a negro. And this is not denying 
 the negro his rights as a man, nor as a citizen, 
 except in so far as he shall forfeit them by crime. 
 In that event, the white man shares with the in- 
 telligent black man in the great basic opinion that 
 the suppression of crime is the purport and 
 
The Girdle of the Great 97 
 
 province of the law. But these separate tides of 
 humanity, rising, swelling and surging to the 
 flood-height of their destiny shall no more mingle 
 than the gulf stream and the Atlantic Ocean shall 
 mingle." 
 
 "In the prosperity of the negro," the Colonel 
 went on, after blowing fresh clouds of smoke, 
 "we, of the South, rejoice. We are glad for him 
 to eat the fruits of his industry. We encourage 
 him; we buy his produce and sell him land." 
 
 "But are you doing anything for him, educa- 
 tionally t" queried the Major. 
 
 "We pay the bulk of the taxes and he shares 
 equally in their distribution," replied the Colonel. 
 "If you will pardon me. Major," he continued, 
 without the slightest trace of irritation, "may I 
 ask if you are doing anything for him indus- 
 trially" f 
 
 "No" — after a moment's hesitation — "I must 
 confess that New York City is the city of the 
 white man's job." 
 
 "As I was about to remark," the Colonel con- 
 tinued without comment, "We mean to educate 
 the Negro, but not to put a fire-brand in his 
 hands or foolish notions in his head. We want 
 him to be more industrious, more thrifty, less 
 shiftless, less unreliable. Let him be Lawyer, or 
 Doctor, or Preacher, or Teacher, or what he will ; 
 but let him not on that account aspire to set 
 aside the universal law of racial instinct — the 
 affinity of like for like which the Almighty has 
 implanted in the breast of all creatures. To put 
 it more plainly, sir, you never saw a crow seek- 
 ing to cast his lot among snow-white pigeons; 
 
pS The Girdle of the Great 
 
 and you never will. As I said before, however, 
 we have no Negro Problem, only a few proble- 
 matic negroes. For the majority have no desire 
 to be other than what God has seen fit to make 
 them ; and in being honest, industrious, peace- 
 ful, law-abiding, and full-blooded negroes, they 
 fulfill their highest destiny." 
 
 The Colonel paused, and waited for the Major 
 to speak. No unkindly word had been spoken. 
 The aristocratic old Southerner had expressed 
 his honest convictions, clearly, forcibly and fear- 
 lessly, as he had always done. 
 
 "I never saw things in that light before," said 
 the Major, still alert, despite his sleepless night 
 at Ansonville, "And do you tell me that the 
 Negroes share equally with the whites in the dis- 
 tribution of the Public School Fund?" 
 
 "Yes. My old man Sam (And there never 
 was a more faithful servant; he refused to be 
 freed) has two boys — Bill and Ben. These boys 
 attended the free-school for Negroes. Last Fall, 
 Bill went ofif to a Negro college, while my son 
 Jerome, whose thirst for knowledge is most in- 
 tense was constrained by force of circumstances 
 to remain on the farm. Bill's idea of education 
 can be summed up in two words — Big Man. 
 This includes everything superficial. But you 
 can scarcely blame the Negro. Naturally, he re- 
 gards educational progress as a mere matter of 
 outward show — a jingle of bells and baubles." 
 
 "But is it not true, my dear Colonel," inter- 
 posed the Major, "That the negro is capable of 
 greater intellectual progress?" 
 
The Girdle of the Great 99 
 
 "Oh, yes, that's true. His progress, however, 
 will be slow. He must first clear up his wilder- 
 ness of mental weeds. And when the negro's 
 mental powers are fully developed, he will no 
 longer desire Social Equality — He will then see 
 its folly — Its utter futility. One of the greatest 
 benefits of education is to be found in the fact 
 that it teaches a man where to stay, as well as 
 where to go." 
 
 "You are right, Colonel, and like many of our 
 leading thinkers I am coming more and more to 
 see that the South is fully able to deal with this 
 and all other problems, and that if left alone she 
 will eventually settle them to the satisfaction of 
 all parties." 
 
 The Major suddenly yawned and stretched 
 himself full-length in his chair before the dying 
 fire. 
 
 "You are getting sleepy. Major," observed the 
 Colonel, rising, "Come let me show you to your 
 room." He led the way to an elegantly-furnished 
 room in which a great oak-wood fire was yet 
 blood-red in its glow. In one corner of the room 
 a tall bed with snow-white covering, but with 
 warm blankets, sandwiched between feathers and 
 counterpanes, invited to sweet and refreshing 
 repose. 
 
 "You will doubtless have dreams enough of 
 pistols and problematic negroes," called the 
 Colonel cheerily, as he closed the door. "But if 
 you are a somnambulist, don't take me for your 
 ghoul or a problematic negro." 
 
 "No danger of that," laughed his guest. 
 
100 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 And Major Creighton Graves went to sleep 
 that night with one great purpose firmly fixed in 
 his mind : to give Jerome Watkins the chance of 
 a college education. 
 
The Girdle of the GREAf 161 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 AN EXCEEDING HIGH MOUNTAIN. 
 
 If, according to the standard of the Epicurean, 
 the dinners at Riverwood were excellent, the 
 breakfasts were par excellence. No meal, pre- 
 pared at Delmonico's or elsewhere, can surpass a 
 Southern breakfast. Its chief glory lies not in 
 elaborate courses, but in the consummate skill of 
 preparation. 
 
 The Major paid Mrs. Watkins the highest com- 
 pliment possible on the excellence of her fare — 
 he ate heartily. 
 
 "A fine day for a rabbit hunt," observed the 
 Colonel, suddenly turning his attention from the 
 meal to gaze through the window at the broad 
 vistas of untrodden snow. "How would you like 
 to try one. Major?" 
 
 "Very much, indeed, sir," returned the Major, 
 "But business engagements call me home. I 
 shall be compelled to leave this morning; and to 
 leave most reluctantly, I assure you. I have 
 never spent a more pleasant day and night." 
 
 "The snow is too deep for you to drive back 
 in your buggy," interposed the Colonel triumph- 
 antly, "It snowed again in the night. You would 
 make but a sorry business of getting back to An- 
 sonville. You had better stay with us till the 
 thaw sets in." 
 
lo2 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 "That would be delightful, Sir, but I shall be 
 compelled to keep my engagement. A failure to 
 keep one's word is fatal to all forms of success." 
 The Major spoke decisively ; and it was apparent 
 that by firmness and fidelity he had won success. 
 
 "Well, if you will go," said the Colonel re- 
 luctantly, "You must go in my sleigh. Jerome 
 can drive with you to keep you company. My 
 rheumatism pains me or I would go with you 
 myself. The negro, who drove you over, can 
 come later. I know the livery-man and it will be 
 alright with him." 
 
 At last, Jerome and Major Graves were on the 
 way to Ansonville. Swiftly and silently, save 
 for a soft, crunching sound, they sped over the 
 trackless road. Up-hill and down, they coursed, 
 a stinging breeze in their faces. 
 
 "Jerome," said Major Graves, as they were 
 passing a dilapidated farm-house, "Do you wish 
 to spend your days on a farm, and perhaps have 
 the misfortune to own one like that?" 
 
 "I do not object to remaining on the farm, Sir, 
 if I may first fulfill my ambition for a college 
 course. I think the main cause of agricultural 
 failure, with the exception of climatic conditions, 
 is ignorance." The young man spoke enthusiasti- 
 cally but without egotism. 
 
 "You are right, my boy," exclaimed the Major, 
 with evident admiration. "Few possess the earth- 
 knowledge. Thousands till the soil and die with- 
 out ever learning its secrets. The success of 
 North Carolina, in almost every respect, depends 
 upon the proper application of the proper ele- 
 ments to the soil, the basic principle." 
 
The Girdle of the Great I63 
 
 "You are right, Sir," said Jerome with en- 
 thusiasm still evident in his tone. "I know that 
 the enrichment of our land shall mean much to 
 our people. They will be happier and more 
 progressive as the land is made richer." 
 
 "No doubt about that, and your wealth which 
 is now seeking other States, will remain at home. 
 Besides, other States, instead of drawing frorfl 
 you, will help to enrich you." 
 
 "Education — Industrial education," con- 
 tinued the Major, "Is what you need in the 
 South. An education which weans too many men 
 from the soil is harmful. We need fewer pro- 
 fessional men and more farmers. The farmer 
 should be almost as much a man of science as 
 the average professor of chemistry ; that is to 
 say, with reference to the peculiar elements which 
 constitute his soil. The theory that only fools 
 should farm and go into the ministry has long 
 since been exploded. Premiums in the future 
 shall be placed, not so much upon what a man 
 does, as upon how zvell he does it. Labor is 
 honorable in proportion to the skill employed in 
 its execution." 
 
 Jerome listened with rapt attention and silent 
 wonder. Here was a man whose mind had not 
 been trammeled by trade or tradition ; whose 
 world was not circumscribed by the almighty dol- 
 lar; an honest man who dared to think openly, 
 broadly and boldly. 
 
 "Jerome," said Major Graves, suddenly chang- 
 ing the subject, "If you really wish to go to col- 
 lege, I will provide a way for you to go. I have 
 no son of my own and would esteem it a great 
 
1(34 "^HE GlRDLfe OF THE CsEAf 
 
 privilege, as well as a pleasure, to be able to do 
 something for the ambitious son of my pre- 
 server." 
 
 Jerome made no immediate reply. He was 
 tempted by the generous offer. It showed him 
 the easy way — the short cut — to an education. 
 By availing himself of this offer he would the 
 sooner possess Maxine's hand. Perhaps, if he 
 refused the opportunity, the day of his marriage 
 would be far distant, if not hopelessly lost in the 
 dim horizon of the future. 
 
 But in the face of these thoughts rose others 
 of the majesty and strength of manhood. What 
 nobility was ever developed through exercise by 
 proxy? He would not appreciate, as a man 
 should appreciate in order to realize the fullness 
 of his strength, a mere gift of generosity. That 
 would be a borrowed girdle. It would possess 
 for him no secret charm of toilsome days and 
 nights. In his opinion, power sprang often from 
 perseverance ; prominence from patience. How 
 many sons of rich men had he known to squander 
 their chance in life; the spendthrift was always 
 as prodigal of brain as he was of purse. The 
 same burning madness consumed both. To thor- 
 oughly appreciate a thing, a man must work for 
 it — the miner for his gold ; the diver for his 
 pearl. 
 
 "You are very generous. Sir," he said finally, 
 "and I deeply appreciate your offer. But some- 
 how I have always wanted to work out my own 
 way. I would know then what my education 
 cost me. I would know how to value it in 
 moments and hours. Do not think, though, even 
 
The Girdle of the Great 105 
 
 ^ for a moment, Sir, that I fail to appreciate your 
 kindly interest in me." 
 
 "You've got the right stuff in you," exclaimed 
 the Major, unable to conceal his admiration. 
 "The world soon wearies of denying success to 
 men of your mettle. Forge ahead. You will win 
 out in the end. I am ready to stand by you 
 (Don't forget to call on me if you ever need 
 help.) But you are exactly right; we never ap- 
 preciate the things that cost us nothing." 
 
 Then the conversation drifted into less im- 
 portant channels. 
 
 As they dashed past the banker's house, Jerome 
 caught a glimpse of Maxine through the window. 
 She nodded in recognition, and he returned it 
 with a wave of his hand. Major Graves feigned 
 to see nothing, while making a careful mental 
 memorandum of it all. 
 
 In due time, the train left Ansonville with 
 Major Graves among its passengers. He had, 
 as he had anticipated, found no opportunity to 
 hold an interview with Maxine. So he employed 
 his time, as the train sped Northward, in writing 
 her the result of his embassy. 
 
 Meantime, Jerome had sought the banker's 
 house. Maxine, herself, came to the door and 
 graciously ushered him in. 
 
 "Was that your friend I saw with you in the 
 sleigh?" she queried innocently, when they were 
 seated in the parlor. 
 
 "Yes," he answered quickly, scrutinizing her 
 face, "And he offered to educate me. What do 
 you think of that?" 
 
io6 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 V 
 
 l(Why, I think it's lovely of him — and of course 
 you will accept," she cried, beaming upon him. 
 
 "No, I shall not." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because I prefer to make my own way — ^to 
 blaze my own trail through the mental woods. 
 In that case, I shall be less likely to lose my bear- 
 ings." 
 
 "Ah! How noble," she cried, admiringly. "I 
 should have expected it of you. Pardon me, 
 there is just a grain. of distrust in my disposition. 
 I can scarcely believe, for instance, that a man — 
 an ambitious young man — will not take the first 
 car of opportunity" — 
 
 "Especially when there's a woman — a pretty 
 young woman — at the other end of the line," he 
 flashed back, 
 
 "You impudent fellow — as if I were a dip- 
 loma," she exclaimed; "As if I were to be con- 
 sidered in the matter at all." She rested her rosy 
 cheeks in her shapely white hands and gazed up 
 at him, a perfect picture of maddening loveliness. 
 
 "To be considered in the matter at all?" he 
 echoed, his voice trembling with tenderness. 
 "You are the soul of all things in which I am in- 
 terested. I would despise an enterprise which 
 precluded your presence as a guardian angel. 
 And tell me," he continued earnestly, "What you 
 know about the gentleman — about Major Graves 
 — who saved our estate? Somehow I have an 
 idea that you know him." 
 
 Maxine trembled slightly and lost color. 
 "What I — know about him ?" she stammered with 
 
The Girdle of the Great 107 
 
 evident confusion. "Why, what should I know 
 about him?" 
 
 "Didn't you write him to come down here?" 
 he asked, tentatively, studying the effect of his 
 question upon her face. Little by little, he had 
 reached that conclusion, having exhausted every 
 other hypothesis in orderly procession. 
 
 "Why do you ask such a question?" she said, 
 evasively. 
 
 "Because you are the only one in Ansonville 
 who would be likely to take that much interest 
 in us, and none of our neighbors have acquaint- 
 ance abroad. Major Graves would hardly have 
 come here just at the time he did, unless someone 
 had advised him." 
 
 "Such things have happened," she replied, re- 
 covering her composure. "Do you not believe in 
 special providences ?" 
 
 "Yes. In very special ones, when women take 
 things in hand — Providences in which things are 
 always provided for satisfactorily. Now, own 
 up. Didn't you write Major Graves to come?" 
 
 "And what if I did?" she retorted, having 
 sought her last subterfuge. 
 
 "Nothing, except that you are the sweetest 
 and prettiest and best little girl on earth," he 
 cried passionately ; "and that I love you better 
 than I love anyone on earth." 
 
 His dark eyes scanned her face eagerly for the 
 least sign of reciprocated affection, but they 
 sought in vain. A marble statue could not have 
 been more impassive, more immobile. He never 
 knew till long afterwards how her heart throbbed 
 
io8 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 that day, and what her feigned indijEference cost 
 her. 
 
 "Have you no heart?" he cried impatiently, 
 "No word of encouragement for me?" He drew 
 back and contemplated her, misery and anger 
 strugghng with the mastering love in his face. 
 
 "There is one more worthy of you than I," she 
 answered slowly, almost sadly. "She has suf- 
 fered more for you than I can suffer. She loves 
 you better than I can love you, because she knows 
 that she loves you hopelessly. She deserves the 
 praise — for saving your father's estate. Shall I 
 — is it necessary for me to — call her name ? Ah ! 
 I see that you know of whom I speak" — 
 
 "Is it Marjorie? Can a lily spring from such 
 soil?" 
 
 "Yes, it is Marjorie," she answered, with a 
 little sigh ; "And she would give her life for one 
 crumb of the love you have offered me." 
 
 "Poor little thing, Poor little thing," he said 
 pityingly. "She is worthy of a good man's love 
 — Yes, she is worthy, a thousand times worthy — • 
 but one cannot change the decrees of one's heart. 
 They are like the laws of the Medes and Per- 
 sians. And I am bound to love you for life and 
 death." 
 
 He drew nearer to her, his strong face match- 
 ing the strength of her own. His hands clasped 
 her slender wrist and sought to pull her gently 
 toward him. 
 
 "Stop!" she pleaded, struggling in his strong 
 grasp. "Not yet. It is no time for sentiment 
 when one's dreams of greatness grow bright. 
 The heart can wait the bidding of the mind. Per- 
 
The Girdle of the Great 109 
 
 haps that is always best. At any rate, the affairs 
 of the heart should be subservient." 
 
 "As I was going to tell you about Marjorie," 
 she hastened to interpose, before he could speak, 
 "She wrote me of your distress, beseeching me to 
 save Riverv/ood. I did what I could; it was lit- 
 tle enough. I did not mean for you to know it, 
 but since you have already guessed my secret, 
 there is nothing to conceal. You must be a mind- 
 reader." 
 
 "Oh ! that I were a heart-reader," he sighed. 
 
 "I meant, I meant," she concluded, in a falter- 
 ing voice, "to do all in my power to give you 
 your chance in life. You won't despise me for 
 it, will you?" 
 
 "Will I!" he cried, with threatening laughter 
 in his eyes, "Oh, no, T reckon not. But you don't 
 know what a temptation Major Graves' offer 
 was. I stood on an exceeding high mountain, I 
 saw the kingdom of a heart." 
 
 "The kingdom of a heart," she exclaimed, with 
 mock satire ; "hearts have no kings ; they serve 
 whom they choose. They are republics. They 
 have the right to say who and what their 
 executives shall be." 
 
 "Then I shall vote at my own election," he 
 said merrily as he rose to go. "And having re- 
 ceived a majority of two, shall forthwith declare 
 myself duly elected." 
 
 "But, in case of a tie," she suggested smiling, 
 so divinely that her teeth gleamed like rows of 
 pearls, "Who'll cast the deciding vote?" 
 
 "The clergyman," he laughed. 
 
 A warmth of color reddened her fair cheeks; 
 
no The Girdle of the Great 
 
 loveliness and lingering beauty sparkled in her 
 blue eyes. Visions of far-off days rose up in 
 mist of silver and dust of gold before her yearn- 
 ing gaze. For a whirling moment, all the splendor 
 of love was in her face — brilliant, beautiful, 
 dreamy, as far-flung pulsings of twilight melody. 
 
 "Ah!" she said at length, in a half-whisper, 
 relaxing the tender clasp of her white fingers 
 upon the hand he had extended in farewell. 
 "Thou art drunk with the wine of wit." She 
 knew, even when she said it, that he had read the 
 tell-tale tokens in her face. And no Belshazzar's 
 fate at that. She knew that he had seen the 
 earnest of ultimate victory. 
 
 He made no reply ; his heart was too full of 
 joy; the rhapsody of silence was sweet to his 
 soul. Out over the glistening leagues, he rode 
 back to Riverwood ; past sombre, snow-sheathed 
 pines; past the white horns of hillocks; past the 
 broad clearings, where deep stains of ruby 
 marked the death rays of the sun — yea, out into 
 the throbbing tide of new-born hope, he rode 
 right merrily. 
 
The Girdle of the Great hi 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A DISTURBED DOCTOR. 
 
 The appearance of Major Graves had been like 
 a horrid nightmare to Dr. Allen. It had sent him 
 perspiring and palpitating from the scene of the 
 sale. Through the long hours of the night, his 
 heart had been the romping-ground of reveling 
 demons of fear. Had the Northerner recognized 
 him as he, despite the long years, had recognized 
 the Northerner ? Would the mask finally be torn 
 off to present him in his true character to the 
 confiding residents along the Pee Dee ? He must 
 do something, and that quickly. He must cement 
 the bonds which already linked him loosely to 
 J\lr. MacDonald. Firmly bound in business in- 
 terests to such a shrewd and successful financier 
 as the banker had shown himself to be, the Doctor 
 could snap his finger at the old skeleton which 
 had so suddenly rattled out of his closet. 
 
 Accordingly, the Doctor ordered horse and 
 sleigh, and accompanied by Gabriel, set out for 
 Ansonville on the very afternoon that Jerome 
 was returning to Riverwood. As Jerome was 
 sweeping swiftly along the road about half-way 
 between Ansonville and Riverwood, he caught 
 sight of an approaching sleigh — a bobbing, black 
 object whose occupants were half -hidden by the 
 
112 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 climbing horse — far down near the foot of a 
 hill. In a few moments he saw that they would 
 pass each other midway the slope. It being the 
 custom for incomers to have the right of way, 
 Jerome turned from the road. He soon saw that 
 the occupants of the sleigh were Gabriel and Dr, 
 Allen. He also noted that they were bending to- 
 ward each other as if whispering or conversing 
 in low tones. Suspecting that they were plotting 
 to do him some bodily harm, he held his whip 
 ready to defend himself. 
 
 "Heigh! You young cus, why don't you give 
 us more margin?" shouted Doctor Allen as they 
 drew alongside. "You're still trying to take the 
 earth, I see!" 
 
 "Yes, but I haven't got down to robbing the 
 dead yet," retorted Jerome, his face whitening 
 with anger. "I have recently learned that was 
 your former occupation. Therefore, I can easily 
 understand why you have no hesitancy in robbing 
 the living." 
 
 Doctor Allen's face became purple with fear 
 and passion. His shifty eyes widened, then 
 snapped fiery red like the eyes of a mad-dog. 
 His side-whiskers bristled. "Repeat that, you 
 contemptible little imp, and we'll" — the Doctor 
 glanced at Gabriel — "thrash the impudence out 
 of you." 
 
 "It is true and you know it," said Jerome 
 firmly. "You once tried to rob Major Graves 
 and my father frightened you oflf. Why did you 
 leave so suddenly on the day of the sale? You 
 pro mnny ve?.r'? my senior, but your record for- 
 feits for you all respect and reverence. You are 
 
The Girdle OF THE Great 113 
 
 two to one," he cried, raising the long heavy 
 whip, "But I defy you to touch me !" 
 
 The Doctor and Gabriel were both at white 
 heat. Quickly leaving their sleigh, they rushed 
 towards Jerome, the Doctor to the rear and Ga- 
 briel to the front. With a swift crack, the long 
 lash leaped out and caught Gabriel a blinding cut 
 across the eyes which sent him stumbling aim- 
 lessly in the snow. The same blow served to 
 frighten the Doctor's horse; and instead of 
 clutching at Jerome's back as he had intended, 
 the little man sprinted through the snow after 
 the fleeing horse. Gabriel, too, as soon as he 
 could recover from his shock, joined in the chase. 
 Owing to the difficulty of running up a snow- 
 covered hill, the horse soon stopped, and the 
 twain, blowing and well-nigh breathless, re-en- 
 tered the sleigh and continued their journey, 
 while Jerome, laughing heartily at the surprising 
 turn of affairs, drove on to Riverwood without 
 further incident. 
 
 When they reached Ansonville, Dr. Allen went 
 at once to the bank and sought an interview with 
 Mr. MacDonald. 
 
 "I tell you, Mr. MacDonald," he said with a 
 downward sweep of his hand, "That unless we 
 protect our interests against that Yankee, he is 
 going to clean us up, lock, stock and barrel. In 
 my opinion — the Doctor's tone became low and 
 confidential — "He is nosing around for gold." 
 (Mr. MacDonald was instantly interested.) 
 "And we have got to combine against him or be 
 drawn into his drag-net." 
 
114 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed the banl^^r, avariciously rub- 
 bing his hands together as if sifting gold-bearing 
 sand, "We must look into that. But, my dear 
 Doctor, we must not forget that we ourselves are 
 foreigners ; that is to say, we are not natives of 
 the State." 
 
 "And for that reason," whispered the Doctor, 
 drawing still nearer, "We should work this ter- 
 ritory for all it is worth. We should cast our 
 hooks for suckers. We will never be profited by 
 pulling against each other. Let's join hands. 
 We can control this section. And in my opinion, 
 it's rich as Croesus — a veritable El Dorado." 
 
 The banker's small eyes glittered greedily. The 
 Doctor was the only man he had really feared. 
 Now the opportunity to tie him hard and fast 
 was at hand. 
 
 "Ah, well, we'll look into that," he said uncon- 
 cernedly, leaning far back in his chair, his eyes 
 half-closed, "What is your — er — proposition?" 
 
 "Simply this : That we form a co-partnership 
 for the purchase and sale of real estate." 
 
 "A good suggestion," exclaimed Mr. Mac- 
 Donald tersely, "We'll have the papers drawn up 
 at once." 
 
 The shrewd banker's eyes contracted still more. 
 The gleam which shot through his half-closed 
 lids was the cunning fire of a fox's eyes. 
 
 "What requirement must we fulfill?" queried 
 the Doctor, not without his own crafty expres- 
 sion. "Must we put up any money, or can we 
 arrange to deal as brokers?" 
 
 "Our principal gains should come from shrewd 
 purchases and speedy sales," replied Mr. Mac- 
 
The Girdle of the Great 115 
 
 Donald. "For this reason it is necessary for us 
 to be something more than mere real-estate 
 brokers. Capital stock — paid-up capital stock — is 
 therefore absolutely essential." The banker spoke 
 like a man thoroug-hly familiar with all the de- 
 tails of such a business. 
 
 "And that Brandon Place," said the Doctor at 
 length, studying the banker's ruddy, clean-shaven 
 face as though it were a map, "What are you 
 going to do about that? Old Watkins has the 
 drop on you in the matter of the title, but there 
 is more than one way to jump a claim." 
 "What do you mean?" 
 "That deeds are not imperishable." 
 "Well, we will leave that for the present," sug- 
 gested the banker shrewdly, "and get our other 
 matters with reference to the co-partnership in 
 good business shape." 
 
 In a short while the co-partnership had legally 
 materialized and the banker and the Doctor sat 
 down together to play a shrewd game of finan- 
 ciering, each alert and watchful for the master- 
 stroke. 
 
 Gabriel had sufficiently recovered the use of 
 his eyes to see his way to the banker's house. 
 He only wished that he could see his way half as 
 clearly to Maxine's heart. Nevertheless, he was 
 surprised at the almost cordial greeting which 
 she gave him. He was far too superficial in such 
 matters to see that a victor can afford to be 
 generous. It had never occurred to him, for in- 
 stance, that she was thoughtful enough to arrange 
 a deliverance such as had befallen the Watkinses. 
 
Ii6 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 He attributed that to some Devil with whom he 
 was not in league. 
 
 "Why, what is the matter with your eyes, Mr. 
 Allen?" she asked suddenly, as he leaned eagerly 
 forward to ask some question. 
 
 "Oh, nothing," he replied, "Just a trifling ac- 
 cident. "I had the misfortune to come in con- 
 tact with a crazy brute. I passed Jerome Watkins 
 on the road. He fell upon me without warning. 
 Only a coward would do that." 
 
 Gabriel ceased speaking and regarded her with 
 an expression of wounded pride. 
 
 "Are you quite sure that you gave him no cause 
 for such conduct?" she asked. 
 
 "That I am. I didn't say a single word to 
 him. Nor did I strike him in return," he added 
 significantly. There was a decidedly pathetic 
 plea in his voice. He was shrewd enough to 
 know that a woman's sympathy is her weakest 
 point. Having failed to win his case by other 
 means, he sought now to pose as a martyr. He 
 chuckled inwardly at the expression of sympathy 
 (he really thought it that) which instantly ap- 
 peared on her face. He felt that he was slowly, 
 but surely, occupying the citadel of her affections. 
 "Ah!" he congratulated himself, as the old yearn- 
 ing for riches which ever ran in his blood — for 
 riches, by the foulest means, if necessary — rose 
 up with the serpent's soft voice, "That Brandon 
 place shall be mine after all — Mine!" He dug 
 his nails into his palms. 
 
 "I have never believed in oppression," she said, 
 finally. 
 
 Gabriel was almost sure that she meant no re- 
 
The Girdle of the Great 117 
 
 flection upon him ; and that she spoke out of the 
 fullness of sympathy for him. His moon-shaped 
 face now bore every mark of martyrdom. 
 
 *''I knew you would see that I was in the right," 
 he exclaimed, his voice sinking to a minor note, a 
 buoyant gleam in his blue eyes, "and that you 
 would be honest enough to say so. And I'll tell 
 you, Maxine," he ran on, "that fellow Watkins 
 is the biggest hypocrite on earth. He has been 
 trying to fool you all along. Just like he fooled 
 that poor little Marsden girl, across the river. 
 Beware of him. His sanctimonious dignity is 
 but a mask. You think I am bad (oh, yes, you 
 do), but the difference between Jerome Watkins 
 and myself is the difference between night and 
 day"— 
 
 "In that you are right," she broke in. "Your 
 characters are utterly dissimilar — as much so as 
 night and day." She regarded Gabriel with an 
 analytical attitude, which for some reason, he 
 thought, to be ardent admiration. The blood 
 surged to his face till his temples throbbed, and 
 his heart swam with ecstatic melody — the drum 
 beat of dreams. 
 
 "How good of you to say so," he cried joy- 
 fully, "And you don't think I am bad"f 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Glorious !" he exclaimed, suddenly diving for 
 her hand, "My happiness is finished." 
 
 "I do not think you are bad, Gabriel," she said 
 slowly, "I knoiv it." 
 
 The barometer in his heart suddenly tumbled 
 to zero. 
 
 "Then you shall have cause for your knowl- 
 
Ii8 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 edge," he retorted; "I will make you sorry that 
 you ever lived. Jerome Watkins shall never en- 
 ter college, nor call you his wife." 
 
 He arose, quickly, and with angry mutterings, 
 stamped out into the street, crushing the soft 
 snow beneath his heavy boots as if he were a 
 conquering demon, and it were an angel's heart 
 
The Girdle of the Great 119 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE SILENT STRUGGLE. 
 
 Major Graves' letter came duly to Mr. Mac- 
 Donald's hands for the reason that all Maxine's 
 letters passed through that icy channel, the 
 banker esteeming it an essential part and prerog- 
 ative of guardianship to exercise this espionage 
 upon his ward's correspondence. 
 
 For some reason — perhaps because it bore the 
 railway postmark — Mr. MacDonald carefully 
 (he regretted that he could not do it coldly) 
 heated a small, thin paper-knife and inserted it 
 beneath the sealed side of the envelope. Then 
 he removed the letter, softly drew down his win- 
 dow-shades, and, lighting a tiny brass lamp, 
 slowly read the Major's message. 
 
 "Um-ah," he exclaimed at length, pressing his 
 long white fangs upon his lower lip, "I thought 
 so. I'm not much of a believer in miracles. I 
 knew the girl had a hand in it. In love with that 
 lanky, bankrupt Watkins boy, eh? I must look 
 into that matter. With us MacDonald's money 
 must marry money" — he chuckled and clenched 
 his fist — "when it marries at all." 
 
 Then he carefully replaced the letter, and re- 
 sealed the envelope so perfectly that only an ex- 
 pert could have told that it had been tampered 
 
120 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 with. Mr. MacDonald had long studied the art 
 of covering up his tracks, and prided himself 
 upon his cunning. 
 
 Suddenly the clink of silver reached his ear, 
 and he smiled gloatingly. It was the voice of his 
 sheep. 
 
 He loved to hear them come tinkling home 
 from the pastures. He loved to see the pale 
 cashier herd them in shining heaps. 
 
 He arose, opened his private door, and went 
 into the bank-enclosure. Sinking into a chair, he 
 sat studying the cashier's face while he bent over 
 a book. It was an honest face, clear cut, con- 
 scientious. The mouth was firm. There was no 
 shifty light in the deep-set eyes ; it gleamed 
 steady and clear upon the ledger, revealing only 
 what was right and fair. It dawned upon Mr. 
 MacDonald, as he sat watching the cashier, that 
 he was not the man for his future necessity. 
 
 "I must discharge that incompetent," thought 
 the banker, seeking to compromise with his con- 
 science, "and install Gabriel Allen. It is a part 
 of my program" — he smacked his lips as if he 
 had just eaten a broiled squab — "an essential part 
 of my program." 
 
 Next day, being the last of the month and the 
 end of the year, the cashier was discharged on 
 the ground of incompetency. The poor fellow 
 had a large family dependent upon him and was 
 reduced almost to the point of despair, but Mr. 
 MacDonald had said "Business was Business/* 
 and he was forced to go. 
 
 Gabriel, who had given up his course at col- 
 lege, was duly installed as Cashier. Despite the 
 
The Girdle of the Greait tit 
 
 Constant miscarriage of his plans, he entered the 
 bank with a decided thrill of triumph. With the 
 shrewd banker on his side, he would ultimately 
 win Maxine. 
 
 Having made that conquest, his happiness 
 would be complete. Not the least enjoyable of 
 victories, however great, would be the defeat of 
 his hated rival, Jerome Watkins. 
 
 The Doctor's heart, too, was athrob with new- 
 born hope. He would tighten his clutches upon 
 the banker and slowly draw him in. A little bait 
 was all that remained needful. 
 
 The Doctor, therefore, soon made an unusually 
 large deposit, at which the banker smiled broadly, 
 benignly. 
 
 One morning, shortly after Gabriel had taken 
 charge, Mr. MacDonald called Maxine into his 
 study and indicated a chair near his side. 
 
 "Sit down a moment, Maxy, dear," he said 
 cordially, "I have something to say to you." 
 She silently obeyed. "You must be quite lonely 
 here," he ran on suavely, "and company — good 
 company — would be very desirable, very delight- 
 ful. I should not be willing, however, for cer- 
 tain young men to call. For instance, I should 
 very seriously object to — um — at — Jerome Wat- 
 kins. 
 
 "But I have learned that my cashier, Gabriel 
 Allen, has most admirable traits. He has the 
 most decided talent for money mak" — 
 
 "But, Uncle, you surely don't mean to suggest 
 that I should encourage Gabriel Allen?" She 
 raised her gold-penciled brows in utter astonish- 
 ment. 
 
122 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 "That is precisely what I mean," he snapped. 
 
 "Then I cannot comply with your request," she 
 said firmly. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because I do not fancy him." 
 
 "Fancy, fiddlesticks !" cried the banker in a de- 
 cided tone of displeasure. "What is a woman's 
 fancy? A woman's sentiment. 'Tis nonsense — 
 a fragile rose — a pretty, puny flower that fades 
 and leaves a thorn of temper. 
 
 "You've got good property," he continued, 
 "but you need more. Why, old Doctor Allen's 
 one of the richest landholders in the county. 
 iMarry Gabriel, and your fortune is assured. 
 
 "A dollar, little girl, a dollar (and the banker 
 affectionately tightened his fingers on a silver 
 piece in his pocket) is always one's best friend. 
 It never goes back on you. Your folks may deny 
 you, but a dollar — never. Money is the principal 
 thing, therefore get money, and with all your 
 getting, get money." The banker was silent a 
 moment as if tasting the delightful relish of his 
 paraphrase. 
 
 "I wouldn't advise you to take a false step, 
 Maxy," he continued. "You're my only brother's 
 only child. Moreover, you are my nearest living 
 relation — my natural heir. And I am not a poor 
 man, Maxy. 
 
 "I would regret exceedingly to disinherit you. 
 Jerome Watkins (I might as well speak plainly) 
 is so repulsive to me that he shall not visit my 
 house. But be careful to show Gabriel Allen the 
 utmost courtesy. Try to love him for money's 
 
ISiE Girdle of the Greatp 1^3 
 
 sake. A slight to him shall be considered a slight 
 to me. Am I quite clear ?" 
 
 "Quite clear, Uncle," she replied. "I shall try 
 to treat all your guests with courtesy and re- 
 spect — 'till they forfeit the right to such treat- 
 ment. But as for my affections — even though 
 they be fragile as roses — why, they are my own 
 to give and refuse." 
 
 A bright red spot — a torch of battle — burned 
 either of her fair cheeks into flaming color. 
 
 And suddenly recalling that her mother had 
 been, when fully aroused, a matchless mistress of 
 tongue play, the banker wisely dismissed Maxine 
 from his presence. 
 
 "Oh, well, just treat Gabriel respectfully for 
 my sake, Maxy," he called conciliatingly as she 
 closed the door. 
 
 "Alright, sir, for your sake," she replied. 
 
 Maxine went immediately to her room. The 
 interview with her uncle had really impressed 
 her more forcibly than she dared to betray. 
 
 All her property was in the banker's hands, and 
 there were always legal loop-holes through which 
 the cunning financial fox might leap when hard 
 pressed. She was neither purse-proud nor 
 penurious, but she could no more help being her 
 father's daughter than he could help being his 
 father's son. The thought of being disinherited 
 by th^ man who held all of her property was de- 
 cidedly unpleasant. The elder MacDonald — her 
 father — would have found it so. Money seemed 
 a useless encumbrance till it was on the point of 
 taking its leave. Then it seemed at least a neceS' 
 sary evil. 
 
t24 'I'he Girdle of the GREAt 
 
 None of the MacDonalds had ever bade a shin- 
 i'lsr. orround-faced dollar good-bye without the 
 sharpest sting of regret. 
 
 But, on the other nand, rose the heritage of the 
 Edinburgh Scholar, and the learning of her fore- 
 bears towards aestheticism. Somehow in the con- 
 flict, which rose spontaneously in her soul, these 
 latter stood together allied against the avarice 
 with which neither of them possessed in common. 
 
 On rushed the hostile forces, the cannon-wheels 
 of Commercialism grinding into the soft soil of 
 sentiment; the recruits of Aestheticism led by the 
 burning light of the Ancient Scholar. There in 
 her heart they gripped and clung and fought hand 
 in hand. Now the shining lances of Commer- 
 cialism poised and pierced and drove back the 
 allies. 
 
 But ever, when the battle seemed lost by the 
 allies, the light of the Ancient Scholar would 
 burst through the blinding blackness — a beam too 
 bright to be withstood, burning success from the 
 grip of Defeat. 
 
 Again and again the mailed host of the Money- 
 King rushed to the front. Again and again they 
 were repulsed. 
 
 The battle ground reeled and rocked beneath 
 their silvery feet. Like Magic they recovered 
 their strength and returned to the attack. Here 
 gleamed the golden shield of Penuriousness ; 
 there a diamond-hilted dagger of shrewd dealing. 
 The victory seemed theirs. 
 
 They were strong with the greed of the genera- 
 tions. From miserly old Malcolm MacDonald, 
 clutching his sordid siller on the Scottish high- 
 
The Girdle of the Great 125 
 
 land, down to the girl's father, they were a host 
 to be reckoned with. 
 
 In one point only was the line broken ; the An- 
 cient Scholar, who had harked back somewhere 
 (mayhap to some studious monk with whom the 
 bonds of marriage had been stronger than the 
 bans of church) left that glaring gap. He, too, 
 was to be reckoned with. And the man who has 
 burned out his life for an ideal, however humble, 
 leaves no easily erasible trace in his blood. 
 
 For hours Maxine paced her floor as restless 
 as ever a lioness walked the narrow border of her 
 cage. Jerome was her ideal. Must she give him 
 up? Must she sell her heart for a price? There 
 were things above the price of rubies — honor, 
 self-respect, culture, refinement. 
 
 No, she would be free ; she would have these at 
 any sacrifice. She loved the beautiful in life — 
 she loved knowledge — and these should be her 
 masters. 
 
 In the strength of victory she paused suddenly 
 before the window and gazed down the narrow, 
 niggardly street to where stood the bank — 
 solemn, strong and sour — an apotheosis of the 
 banker's ideal. 
 
 The light in her eyes was clear, splendid, bright 
 as the shafts of midday; it was the light of the 
 Ancient Scholar. 
 
 Meantime the banker had said to Gabriel. 
 "Everything'll come around all right, Gabriel. 
 You've got to break 'em in. Of course I don't 
 know how to do it. But a young fellow like you 
 oughtn't to have much trouble. There is one 
 
126 The Girdle of the Great . 
 
 thing certain : you're going to have the right of 
 way; I've forbidden her to admit Jerome Wat- 
 kins in my house. And come what may, my will 
 is law — law, sir, even in love affairs." 
 
 A twinkle of hope shone in Gabriel's eyes. 
 "Old MacDonald's a fool, after all," he thought, 
 "a wise old fool. He knows where his books are 
 buttered." 
 
The Girdle of the Great 127 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 "the meeting in the turpentine orchard." 
 
 Glorious April had come. Everywhere the 
 buds were burstiug, scattering snow balls amid 
 the emerald trees. A dreamy, hazy blue slept in 
 the arching sky. 
 
 The woods rang with a pulsing passion of bird 
 calls. Incense fit for the altars of the Gods rose 
 from the rich brown earth. From the red browed 
 hills to the great river running tawny to the sea, 
 the scenery around Riverwood and Rocky 
 Heights was exquisitely beautiful. 
 
 On a hillside, overlooking the river, Jerome 
 and Old Sam were plowing. Fired by the fever 
 of education, Ben, Old Sam's second son, had 
 bundled up and bustled off to a negro industrial 
 school. 
 
 Thus a double burden came to Jerome's 
 shoulders. The farm work had to be done, and 
 in his straightened circumstances the Colonel was 
 unable to employ extra labor. 
 
 But to stoop continually to this tiresome toil, 
 Jerome, too, had passed through a silent struggle, 
 not with Commercialism, but with the passionate 
 pride which had been in the blood of the Wat- 
 kinses since the days of William the Conqueror. 
 
 A firm believer in the ideals and aspirations of 
 
128 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 the New South, loving the soil of his native State, 
 thrilled by its traditions and touched by the 
 deep pathos of its dark illiteracy, he was never- 
 theless appalled by the menial labor to which he — 
 a representative of the New South — had been re- 
 duced. Yet he recognized that this was the 
 crucible through which ambitious youth of the 
 New South must needs pass — the crucible, indeed, 
 through which he himself had chosen to pass. 
 But, however strong his determination, and how- 
 ever clearly he might foresee his reward in the 
 ultimate issue, there was still in his constitution 
 the latent germ of a chivalry, which could 
 scarcely see the prancing charger of the sixteenth 
 century, and the shining coach of the old regime, 
 supplanted by a trace-worn plow-horse, without a 
 pang of wounded pride. 
 
 Was the result worth the effort? Did the 
 mountains appear grander because one had 
 climbed too slowly to conceive their height ? Was 
 it necessary for the young eaglet to live in a little 
 barnyard with vaunting fowls in order to acquire 
 strength of wing? 
 
 Jerome could no more have accepted his 
 laborer's lot without a struggle than one of his 
 forebears could have ridden a mule at tourney 
 without swearing. 
 
 The love of the soil — the feudal baron's love — 
 he had indeed. That was deeply implanted in 
 his nature; it was a part of his heritage. 
 
 He loved the virgin beauty of the land: with 
 childlike joy he watched it blossom into harvest : 
 he was awed by the profound mystery of the 
 
The Girdle of the Great 129 
 
 seasons which shrouded it into snow or smiled it 
 into warmth and beauty. 
 
 But hitherto he had loved and watched and 
 been awed as one apart, like the traveler who 
 gazes wonder-eyed upon the stupendous structure 
 of Cheops, or the geysers hung silver-spangled 
 between earth and sky — miracles of stone and 
 steam ; henceforth he was to be vitally akin to the 
 soil, its son in the highest, even when his feet 
 pressed the lowest strata ot honest labor. There 
 would he find his strength ; there would he come 
 to see that the highest type of citizenship is to be 
 found, not in mental monstrosity, nor in the per- 
 fection of brute strength, but in well-rounded 
 manhood. He might have studied text books 
 while he plowed — as he did study the great earth- 
 book, underscoring it with his plow — (noble men 
 - — the primitive giants — had done that) — but 
 somehow he had conscientious scruples on that 
 point. He held that a man's first duty was to the 
 working hand, however lowly; that the flower 
 of his strength should be given to his avocation, 
 however humble. In his opinion, no man had 
 ever studied astronomy and at the same time run 
 a straight furrow. His idea of labor was an 
 X-Ray ; a consuming concentration. 
 
 In other words, he was a firm believer in the 
 maxim that whatever was worth doing was worth 
 doing well. 
 
 He ploughed in the day and studied at night. 
 
 Now and then as he plowed this day his eyes, 
 when he stopped at the end of the furrows, would 
 travel to the great river rushing far below like a 
 restless vein of life. It always seemed to him 
 
130 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 typical of the New South— a giant unharnessed 
 — a quivering, throbbing thing that had never 
 known its power. In fancy, he could see the river 
 harnessed to a thousand mill wheels, and catch 
 the lurid glow of electric lights along its path. 
 
 "Some day it will happen," he suddenly said 
 aloud. "And some day the South will be busy 
 like the North." 
 
 "What did you say, my son?" 
 
 Jerome turned quickly to see his father, who 
 had approached so silently that he had not per- 
 ceived his presence. "I was just thinking aloud, 
 father," he replied with some confusion. 
 
 Col. Watkins pretended not to notice the high 
 color in Jerome's face, and removing a letter 
 from his pocket, read aloud the latest naval store 
 report. 
 
 "That looks like there's going to be something 
 in turpentine, my son," he said at length. "I 
 want you to stop plowing to take charge of a 
 squad of hands in the new orchard to-morrow. 
 Walter can take your place here." 
 
 "All right, sir," responded Jerome. "I am 
 ready to do what you think best." 
 
 Next day Jerome was in the turpentine or- 
 chard. With him were ten negroes. They began 
 the work of hacking and pulling boxes cheerfully, 
 industriously. All went well till a strange negro 
 made his advent in the orchard. He asked for 
 employment. It was given him. But he soon be- 
 came trifling, and began to stir up strife among 
 the other hands. Jerome discharged him. He 
 left the orchard with a muttered threat of ven- 
 geance. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 131 
 
 On the Saturday morning following the negro's 
 dismissal, Jerome noticed that the hands were 
 noiser than usual. There was a note of mad 
 mirth in their swelling tones as they sang at their 
 work. Being anxious to finish a certain territory 
 before paying off the hands in afternoon, he had 
 removed his coat, and, taking a hack, had gone 
 on in advance of the negroes, thinking to inspire 
 them by his example. Suddenly, as he entered a 
 little ravine, he came upon an empty whisky 
 flask. That told the tale. 
 
 With a start, he recalled that he had left his 
 pistol in his coat pocket. He turned quickly and 
 walked briskly in that direction. The coat was 
 fully a hundred and fifty yards distant. When 
 he was within about thirty yards the strange 
 negro, who had evidently been lying in wait, 
 sprang forward and grasped the coat. There 
 was a devilish glitter in the negro's eyes ; he gave 
 a gutteral, bush-man like cry of triumph as he 
 removed the pistol. 
 
 "Cum on, boys!" he cried, flourishing the 
 
 weapon. "We'se gwineter show dis d n white 
 
 man who's boss in dese woods !" 
 
 A hoarse murmur of approval greeted this ex- 
 clamation, and several negroes rushed forward 
 to join the bearer of the pistol. 
 
 Jerome grasped a pine-knot, which lay at his 
 feet and silently assumed the defensive. His 
 face was like stone in its firmness. Not a trace 
 of fear was discernible in his attitude. 
 
 On came the negroes, fired by unreasoning 
 fury of liquor-heated brains. 
 
 Under the powerful stimulant, every vestige of 
 
132 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 civilization was forced from their veins, and they 
 harked back to the primitive — to the carousing 
 craze of cannibals. They were in the jungles 
 again, alert, active, snake-like. 
 
 "Stand back!" cried Jerome sternly, as the 
 first one rushed near. "Come on! Kill him!" 
 the strange negro shouted in a very frenzy. He 
 aimed and fired the pistol, but the ball flew wide 
 of the mark. As he drew nearer, Jerome struck 
 his hand, knocking the pistol far out into the 
 bushes. This turn of affairs slightly confused the 
 others. They wavered a moment, holding back 
 half-hesitatingly. They had not counted on the 
 white man's courage. 
 
 "Come on." cried the strange negro, produc- 
 ing a razor, " 'an 'less fix him!" 
 
 But the words were .scarcely out of his mouth 
 when Jerome leaped forward and struck him a 
 blinding blow in the face, doubling him up on 
 the ground. His aim was to disconcert the others 
 so as to gain an opportunity to recover the pistol. 
 But before he could do so they were upon him 
 like a black whirl-wind. The craze of liquor had 
 conquered their native cowardice. With the cool, 
 calculating courage of the Anglo-Saxon, he de- 
 fended himself, striking vigorously right and 
 left. A powerful, well-directed blow sent a big, 
 burly negro to the ground ; another, equally as 
 timely, broke the arm of a tall, thin negro who 
 was in the act of springing at Jerome's throat 
 with a razor. 
 
 Strangely enough, these mishaps seemed only 
 to infuriate the others, and they redoubled their 
 efforts to get Jerome in their clutches. The 
 
He aimed and fired tiie pistol, hut tlie ball flew 
 wide of the mark. ' 
 
 Fariii/i- fa^e 1S2 
 
The Girdle of the Great I33 
 
 mania of murder was in their blood. They came 
 on like mad-dogs. An active young negro, who 
 was not too drunk to see a possible advantage, 
 swiftly slipped into the bushes, and silently re- 
 appearing behind Jerome, dealt him a paralyzing 
 blow on his right arm. The faithful pine knot 
 fell to the ground, and with a yell of fiendish de- 
 light the foremost negro, armed with a hack, 
 leaped toward Jerome. The one in the rear had 
 already grasped Jerome around the waist. A 
 
 moment more and a long black lash leaped 
 
 like a hissing snake into the negro's face. Fast 
 and furiously it swept back and forth, striking 
 its stinging scourges, cutting the flesh at every 
 blow. 
 
 "Back! Back! you black debbils!" shrieked 
 the owner of the scourge, quickly following up 
 his mighty strokes. He was a lean, wizened old 
 man; but his muscles were like thongs of buck- 
 skin ; and his purpose was kingly. 
 
 The others retreated before him like scourged 
 hounds. For fifty years he had been known as 
 "Old Sampson of the Pee Dee," and his strength 
 was not questioned now. The spell of his pres- 
 ence sobered them. 
 
 "Git out — crawl out!" he thundered to the 
 strange negro, who had sufficiently recovered to 
 grasp his razor. "Git out, I say" — the whip-lash 
 popped and curled like a stinging worm around 
 the negro's neck — "yo can't shave dis nigger, if 
 you does live on de Allen place !" The disturber 
 awaited no second invitation. He scrambled to 
 his feet and quickly vanished in the forest. 
 
 "I cum arter dat — load uv light 'd — des in time, 
 
134 The Girdle of the GREAf 
 
 Marse Romey," said the old man. beginning .0 
 show signs of weakness now that the struggle 
 was 'last. "Oh, Lawd — wat's gwineter becum uv 
 dese niggers — strikin' de nan' dat gibs um 
 bread ? 
 
 "But some white man put um up ter dis deb- 
 blishness, dat he did." 
 
 Jerome had his own suspicions, but to them he 
 made no reference. He warmly thanked Old Sam 
 for coming to his rescue. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 13S 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE METTLE OF A MAN. 
 
 The affair in the turpentine orchard did not 
 disconcert Jerome; it did not swerve him from 
 his purpose. He had long known the flagrant in- 
 gratitude of the )'ounger generation of negroes. 
 And it was therefore no surprise to him that sev- 
 eral of those who had received special favors at 
 his hands had turned against him. He saw in 
 the mutiny only another proof of the negro's 
 moral depravity — a depravity exceeding that of 
 the Indian whose gratitude for favors had passed 
 into proverb. And yet, serious as the assault had 
 been, he could not lay the blame wholly at their 
 door. He knew full well that, like numerous 
 other infractions of law and order, this one had 
 its origin in the cunning brain of a white man. 
 He knew full well that the negro problem would 
 not be nearly so intricate, but infinitely farther on 
 the highway to solution, if the white man who 
 used the negro as a political and private tool 
 would step down and out and give the wise and 
 thoughtful and conscientious citizens of the 
 South a chance to solve it. 
 
 Jerome lost no time in securing a new squad 
 of hands. The work was pushed with renewed 
 energy. The price of spirits turpentine continued 
 
136 The Girdle of the Greai* 
 
 high. He saw in that his opportunity to enter 
 college. And he had determined to enter college 
 at any hazard. His father had insisted on em- 
 ploying an assistant overseer. Jerome would not 
 hear to that, replying that he would stay there 
 alone if all the negroes in North Calolina re- 
 belled. But the last ones gave him no trouble 
 whatever ; they worked willingly, and to the best 
 advantage. He treated them kindly, though 
 firmly, requiring each one to do his duty. 
 
 Often he lent his own hand to the task, dipping 
 the rich resinous substance from the deep boxes. 
 With bared arms, sun-tanned and corded with 
 muscles, he carried the heavy bucket from tree to 
 tree. The fragrant breath of the great forest 
 was in his nostrils. Far away stretched the 
 filmy blue vistas, broken here and there by the 
 snowy flakes of scrope upon the tall, stately trees. 
 Beneath his feet the Brown carpet of fallen pine- 
 needles made pleasing contrast with the emerald 
 of the overhanging branches. Here in this wide, 
 wild world his soul marched to the music of the 
 pines. So magnificent they appeared, towering 
 above all else, scorning the stunted shrubs of the 
 nether forest. And yet they were bleeding out 
 their hearts for man — for him — bleeding that he 
 might have his chance in life. Far-fetched as it 
 may seem, he recalled the great principle of 
 Atonement in Nature — the suft'ering of the 
 vegetable and animal world for man — the blood 
 of the beast — the blood of the tree. "What is 
 man that thou art mindful of him, or the Son of 
 man that thou visitest him?" The question of 
 the Psalmist sprang into Jerome's mind again 
 
The Girdle of the Great 137 
 
 and again. And he would answer again and 
 again : "He is immortal — he is greater than 
 beast or tree — he is greater than Nature — he is 
 greater than all but God." Then he would begin 
 to see that in the mighty economy of the Eternal 
 everything occupied its peculiar place — every 
 drop of water its place in the ocean — every peb- 
 ble its place in the earth — every tree its place in 
 the forest. Above all was man ; and above man 
 was mind ; and above mind was soul ; and above 
 soul was God — the Primogeniture. 
 
 Thus did Jerome argue as he went about his 
 work in the forest. Hence he came to see that 
 nature was to man not as a thing apart, but part 
 and parcel of him, a helpmeet without whose 
 counsel he would be a blind guide, a stumbler in 
 the dark. 
 
 The Spring days hurried by with chirrup of 
 birds and the carol of larks in the daisy-dappled 
 meadows. Spending his time mostly in the for- 
 est, Jerome saw little of Maxine — then only for 
 a few moments when business took him to An- 
 sonville — but his love for her grew steadily into 
 a consuming passion, pure as a snow-drift. 
 Without her, his life would lose its day-star. 
 
 One morning, as he was supervising some 
 work by the roadside, a sound of galloping hoofs 
 was borne to his ears. It came from the direction 
 of Ansonville. Suddenly out ot the volleying 
 dust leaped a pony and rider. The rider was a 
 woman and her long, fair hair, having become 
 unclasped, sprayed wildly about her shoulders. 
 She clung desperately to the pony's neck. Close 
 behind her galloped a pov/erful black horse, 
 
138 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 whose rider was evidently essaying to overtake 
 the pony. In a moment the foremost rider was 
 near Jerome. 
 
 With a swift bound he grasped the pony's 
 bridle, and swung upon it with all his power. 
 Despite his strength and weight, he was dragged 
 several yards before he could check the pony. He 
 recognized with a start that its rider was Maxine. 
 "Why, Maxine?" he exclaimed. "What?" 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Watkins," she gasped; then she 
 fainted. 
 
 Calling two of the hands, Jerome bade them 
 hold the pony, while he lifted her from the sad- 
 dle. He tenderly laid her on the pine straw by 
 the roadway and dashed some water in her face. 
 He also rubbed her hands gently. 
 
 Meantime the other rider had reined in his 
 horse, turned and ridden back. As he halted, 
 Jerome recognized Gabe Allen, and, bounding 
 forward, cried: "Wretcn! what does this 
 mean?" 
 
 He pointed a quivering finger at the white 
 figure by the roadway. 
 
 "Nothing, so far as I am concerned," retorted 
 Gabriel with brazen insolence. "It is a legal holi- 
 day and I am on m}- way to my father's. I think 
 I have the right to ride over the highway. About 
 a mile below here I rode up close behind the 
 pony ; and for some reason it took fright and 
 dashed off. That's all I know about it, and I 
 don't see that I am under any obligations to tell 
 you even that much." 
 
 "You'll be under obligations to remain here 
 till I hear Miss MacDonald's side of the ques- 
 
The Girdle of the Great 139 
 
 tion," said Jerome, coolly drawing his pistol and 
 pointing it at Gabriel. "And if you are not 
 exonerated of having purposely frightened her 
 horse, I'll jerk you from that saddle and thrash 
 you like the dog that you are." 
 
 Gabriel's thin, cruel lip curled with scorn. "So 
 you've turned Lord Protector, eh?" he snarled. 
 "You'd better get one for yourself before an- 
 other gang of niggers thrashes you." 
 
 "When you say that, you are an infamous 
 liar !" cried Jerome, white with rage. "You hired 
 them to mutiny against me, and didn't have the 
 courage to stand by them. You paid their way 
 to Georgia to keep them from being prosecuted. 
 You were afraid to face the music" — 
 
 Jerome started to say something else, but 
 Maxine's voice arrested him. "Take me home, 
 please, Mr. Watkins," she faltered. 
 
 "Miss Maxine," he broke in, "did this villian 
 purposely frighten your horse? Did he frighten 
 you?" 
 
 "He rode up behind me suddenly — the pony be- 
 came frightened and ran away — I couldn't con- 
 trol him — I do not think — I do not know that 
 Mr. Allen did this purposely — I had started to 
 ride." 
 
 She gazed up at Jerome, as she sat on the pine- 
 straw, her face still white, her voice tremulous 
 with excitement. 
 
 "You may go now," said Jerome, beckoning 
 to Gabriel. "It is well for you that this was an 
 accident." 
 
 "Fine words, my Lord Protector!" hissed Ga- 
 briel as he cut his horse. "We shall see each other 
 
140 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 later. Good-day, Miss Maxine," he called, turn- 
 ing in his saddle when he had ridden a little 
 way ; "I regret that this accident occurred- I as- 
 sure you it was unintentional on my part." 
 
 Then he stiffly galloped on his way. "Foiled 
 again," he muttered. "Damn this way of trying 
 to do like the novels say. The shoe always gets 
 on the wrong foot." 
 
 Very tenderly Jerome helped Maxine into her 
 saddle, and set out to lead her horse back to An- 
 sonville. 
 
 "It was so brave of you to stop my pony," said 
 Maxine, letting one of her fair hands rest softly 
 upon Jerome's broad shoulder as he fell back a 
 little near her side. "And were you not injured?" 
 she queried, solicitously. "I'm afraid you were." 
 
 "Oh, no," he hastened to interpose. "I was 
 just bruised a little." 
 
 He raised his sleeve a few inches, disclosing a 
 long bruise where the skin had been rubbed off 
 by the rein. "It amounts to nothing." 
 
 "Oh !" she exclaimed sympathetically, "you 
 must let me bind it up when we get to Ansonville. 
 To think I should have been so foolish as to ride 
 a new pony two miles in the country!" 
 
 "To think that that scoundrel should have fol- 
 lowed you and dashed up suddenly behind you. 
 That would frighten any spirited horse." 
 
 "We'll not speak of that any more," she said 
 sweetly, anxious to calm Jerome's temper. "It's 
 all over now and can't be helped." 
 
 When they reached Ansonville she insisted that 
 Jerome should accompany her to the banker's 
 house and let her bind up his wounded arm. He 
 
The Girdle of the Great 141 
 
 argued that he was in his workday's attire, but 
 all in vain. His plea that the banker objected to 
 his presence in his home was promptly waived 
 aside. "Surely," she said, "my uncle will make 
 this an exception. I don't believe you want to 
 go with me," she added with a pretty pout. That 
 settled the matter. Jerome would have gone then 
 through a fiery furnace. 
 
 Finally they were in the banker's house. "And 
 now to my surgery," said Maxine playfully, in- 
 dicating an easy chair. She brought a dainty 
 handkerchief and a bottle of Witch Hazel. 
 "Bare your arm, sir," she ordered with medical 
 dignity. 
 
 Jerome obeyed. 
 
 "Ah ! it's worse than I thought," she exclaimed, 
 pityingly, touching the bruised spot tenderly with 
 the tips of her fingers. "The flesh is lacerated 
 in one place, where the edge of the rein cut in." 
 
 She poured some of the Witch Hazel on the 
 soft handkerchief and gently wound it about his 
 arm. Then she took a bit of thread and tied it. 
 
 "You've bound and bewitched me," he 
 laughed. "But you haven't tied that thread tight 
 enough." 
 
 She leaned over to tie it more firmly, and he 
 suddenly kissed her fragrant hair (at the very 
 moment Mr. MacDonald passed by, and, glanc- 
 ing through the window, beheld the scene). 
 
 "What do you mean, sir?" she cried, striving 
 hard to appear angry. 
 
 "That I always pay my doctor's bills," Jerome 
 replied merrily. "And you will have to pay a 
 lawyer's bill, too," replied Mr. MacDonald, who 
 
142 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 had entered unobserved. His eyes were blazing 
 with rage. His thin Hps quivered. His florid 
 face was hvid. He strode to and fro like a 
 pampered tiger. 
 
 "Oh, uncle, he saved my life!" Maxine cried, 
 springing up in alarm. The banker waived her 
 aside. "Get out !" he said to Jerome. 
 
 "It is your house," observed Jerome coolly. 
 "And a man's house is his castle. It is necessary 
 for me to heed you here, but not elsewhere," he 
 added meaningly. Then with a bow to Maxine, 
 he turned and left the room, quickly crossing the 
 threshold into the street. 
 
 I 
 
The Girdle of the Great 143 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE COMING OF THE COLLEGE PRESIDENT. 
 
 It created quite a stir in the river section when 
 it was announced that the distinguished Doctor 
 Bowman, President of Forest College, would de- 
 liver an address at the Pee Dee Academy. Doc- 
 tor Bowman bore the reputation of being both 
 scholarly and eloquent, the latter of which quali- 
 fications alone was always sufficient to draw a 
 crowd there. 
 
 When the appointed day arrived, the Academy 
 fairly overflowed with folk of all ages, classes 
 and conditions. Babies and numerous nonde- 
 script canines — howlers and growlers — were es- 
 pecially in evidence. 
 
 Jerome — who of course could not allow such 
 an opportunity to pass — remarked, to his almost 
 infinite delight, that Maxine was in the audience. 
 The banker seldom neglected an opportunity to 
 get something for nothing — even educational 
 rare-bits, though he did not bank much on edu- 
 cation beyond the figure-line. 
 
 At length Doctor Bowman arose. In his hands 
 was an open Bible. He was a medium-sized, 
 spare-built man of perhaps fifty. There was an 
 exceedingly benevolent expression in his clear 
 blue eyes. His high, intellectual forehead, well- 
 
144 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 chiseled nose and flowing, reddish-brown beard 
 gave him something of the profile of a Greek 
 philosopher. His voice was soft and slightly 
 nasal; but the auditors hung on his words with 
 almost breathless silence. There was about him 
 an indefinable charm, a subtle magnetism. And 
 you listened because you had absolutely no choice 
 in the matter — as one hypnotized by superior 
 power. 
 
 He read the first chapter of First Peter, and, 
 after a brief, earnest prayer, announced as his 
 theme the thirteenth verse: "Wherefore gird 
 up the loins of thy mind." 
 
 Jerome's eyes instantly sought Maxine's. They 
 gazed at each other wonderingly. It was the 
 theme they had so often discussed, yet never 
 sought in Scripture. Its very appositeness was 
 startling. 
 
 Doctor Bovvanan first referred to Peter, the 
 author of the Epistle, as a great, strong man of 
 the sea, saying that he was the one disciple typi- 
 cal of physical strength; that he knew what it 
 was to gird one's loins for the toil of the sea ; and 
 that, applying the figure to the mind, the apostle 
 had besought the men of all ages to be mentally 
 strong. 
 
 "Peter," said the speaker, "was an unlearned 
 man, but one who realized the importance of in- 
 tellectual discipline and development. He was 
 not a narrow-minded man. The uncultured are 
 not always narrow. 
 
 "It might also be true," suggested the speaker, 
 "that the writer referred to the custom of gird- 
 ing one's loins in the Grecian games held at 
 
The Girdle of the Great 145 
 
 Corinth and elsewhere. In these struggles for 
 the wreath of laurel one needed to be well girded. 
 How much more do we require the girding of 
 our mental loins to enter the great struggle of 
 life! Our success depends upon our preparation 
 — absolutely upon our preparation. 
 
 *'And I will first take up the meaning of edu- 
 cation. It is a common and current error that 
 Education means to create brains. Not all the 
 colleges and schools in the universe, working to- 
 gether harmoniously till the end of time, could 
 create one ounce of brain. The province of Edu- 
 cation is to discover and to develop ; to polish ; 
 to sharpen ; to lead out the Giant Intellect from 
 the dormant vale of Mental Mist. We have 
 slumbered too long in North Carolina. We must 
 gird up the loins of our minds, if we are to keep 
 pace with the stride of the States. The watch- 
 word of the age is 'Educate or perish.' In that 
 grand race of civilization, let us not be laggards. 
 We have the material (from the shingly shores 
 of the East to the blue border of the western 
 mountains we may boast a rugged race, strong as 
 the Vikings ; sturdy as the dwellers on the Scot- 
 tish hills) and let us use it — not abuse it — giving 
 to everyone the chance to gird his mind for the 
 irrepressible conflict." 
 
 Jerome's eyes were flashing. His bosom 
 heaved. He half rose from his seat, bending to- 
 ward the speaker as if drawn by irresistible mag- 
 netism. 
 
 "Our duty demands it of us," the speaker ran 
 on. "No man has the right to stop short of his 
 utmost capacity. We owe it to ourselves and to 
 
146 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 our fellows to make the most of every oppor- 
 tunity. And in this connection I wish to say 
 that we can render no higher service to God than 
 to continue our benefactions to the Negro Race. 
 While the negro must not seek to infringe upon 
 the social rights and instincts of the white man, 
 let him have fully and freely the opportunity to 
 make the most of himself educationally. Educa- 
 tion does not and cannot, to use an expression 
 with which you are all familiar, 'let down the 
 bars' to social equality. Education is one thing; 
 social equality is quite another thing. The white 
 man would have everything to lose and nothing 
 to gain by Social Equality. But it is none the 
 less the duty of the white man to give to the 
 weaker race a chance to establish an educational 
 equality of its own, in which every educated 
 negro shall be the equal socially of every other 
 educated negro — if that definition is desired. 
 And it should be strongly impressed upon the 
 negro that Education is not something to elevate 
 him above work, but something to prepare him 
 for better work. His mind should be thoroughly 
 disabused of the idea that Education is an end, 
 and enabled to grasp the great underlying truth 
 that it is, and can, be only a means — a girding of 
 the mental loins. 
 
 "Young gentlemen," concluded the scholarly 
 President, after other thoughtful remarks along 
 racial lines, "it is your privilege to be, in the 
 highest and holiest sense, men (men of the fields, 
 it may be ; of the flocks if need be) men of honor 
 and power. Prepare yourselves well for the op- 
 portunities and responsibilities of citizenship. 
 
The Girdjle of the Great 147 
 
 Upon your strong shoulders shall rest soon the 
 burdens of the Republic. About your sturdy 
 loins shall be clasped soon the girdle of your 
 fathers. I beseech you to wear them worthily as 
 your fathers have done ; to make good your heri- 
 tage ; to strengthen the pillars of prosperity in the 
 Temple of Peace. 
 
 "And finally" — by some chance the doctor's 
 bright eyes suddenly turned on Jerome twin rays 
 of thrilling light — "I bid you gird up the loins 
 of your minds to enter that race which is to the 
 swift, and that battle which is to the strong. 
 For the day shall soon dawn in North Carolina 
 when to be slow shall be provincial, and to be if- 
 literate an archaism." 
 
 The doctor resumed his seat amid the reverent 
 silence with which his auditors had greeted him, 
 and which they had given him throughout the 
 hour. He had made a profound impression. 
 Many of the farmers present had never before 
 seen Education in that light. To the majority of 
 them it had been hitherto a "dry" subject — a 
 skeleton — devoid of life and interest. He had 
 made the dry bones live. Some of the auditors 
 had even felt that to educate their children was 
 to cast a stigma upon the old farm. They saw 
 now that the one great purpose of the schools and 
 colleges was to win the boys back to rather than 
 to wean them from the soil ; that it was not really 
 true that the institutions of learning were respon- 
 sible for the overcrowded professions; that the 
 young men who were to succeed in the future in 
 farming, or in any other avocation, required the 
 strength of brain as well as the strength of 
 
148 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 brawn. These farmers were not men of great 
 culture, but they were men of great capacity. 
 And. better still, they were never known to deny 
 the Truth to its face. If they harbored Ignor- 
 ance, they never wilfully hobnobbed with it. 
 There were great veins of honesty underlying 
 their rugged exterior like the veins of gold run- 
 ning through their native hills. When their con- 
 sciences approved any course, they stood like 
 granite — silent as the stone ; just as firmly. The 
 doctor's address was, therefore, fruitful for years 
 to come. 
 
 In Jerome had been kindled a strong desire to 
 enter college at once. When the opportunity 
 presented itself, he approached the college presi- 
 dent and apprised him of that desire. He re- 
 ceived every encouragement, including the prom- 
 ise of a situation, which would enable him to con- 
 tinue his course without interruption. He was 
 in high spirits when he finally turned away to 
 seek Maxine. He found her, to his consterna- 
 tion, closely guarded by her uncle and Gabriel 
 Allen, and simply bowed and passed on, a trace 
 of bitterness in the chalice of his joy. Gabriel 
 had been with her quite often of late. Jerome 
 had been unable to obtain from Maxine a satis- 
 factory explanation ; but she had hinted that it 
 was the earnest desire of Mr. MacDonald that 
 she should not refuse Gabriel's company. 
 
 Two weeks later Jerome was ready to go to 
 Forest College. During this interval he had not 
 seen Maxine, though he had made every effort to 
 do so. She was always out, or indisposed, or 
 asleep, or otherwise too much engaged to see him. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 149 
 
 For some reason, or no reason, or a woman's 
 reason, Jerome was repeatedly denied the 
 pleasure of her presence; and this was silently 
 eating out his heart. His face was thinner than 
 usual and very pale. His manner was nervous. 
 In brief, his whole attitude was one of gaunt 
 misery and despair, but slightly illumined by the 
 flaming cressets of ambition, which still shone in 
 his dark eyes. 
 
 "What's de matter wid you, Marse Romey?" 
 asked Old Sam, coming upon Jerome as he was 
 standing at the big gate one evening, gazing off 
 in the direction of Ansonville, "you looks lak 
 you'se got trouble in yo' min'. 
 
 "Now, honey, des tell yo' ole nigger what's 
 bin er fotchin' you doun' so," he said tenderly, 
 drawing nearer. His wrinkled old face was a 
 charcoal-sketch of honest sympathy. No wom- 
 an's voice was ever tenderer than that in which 
 he betrayed his deep devotion to the son of his 
 old master. 
 
 "Nothing much. Uncle Sam — just hate to leave 
 home, I reckon," said Jerome at length. 
 
 "Gawd bless you, chile, fer lubin' yo' home. 
 Dat Bill uv mine's done sot 'is hede 'ginst eber 
 comin' back. He sez de school whar 'e's at 
 teaches niggers ter be 'fessional men — dat he 
 aint gwine ter come back ter de f'am en be lak 
 po' white trash. I finks 'e's dun turned er fool, 
 dat's w'at I does." The old man emphasized 
 the statement by a sudden contraction of his 
 brows. 
 
 "You must take good care of father and mother 
 while I'm gone, Uncle Sam. They've depended 
 
ISO The Girdle of the Great 
 
 so much on me, you know." Jerome had ignored 
 the reference to Bill and turned the second 
 weightiest matter from his heart. 
 
 "Des lis'n at dat sassy boy! In co'se Ise 
 gwine ter tek keer uv'm. W'ensumever didn't dis 
 nigger do dat? He done it 'fo' you wuz bo'n. 
 Marse Romey, you orter be 'shamed uv yo'se'f 
 fer ev'n sayin' dese words uv 'spishunashun 
 'bout de po' ole nigger." He paused and contem- 
 plated Jerome with an air of offended dignity. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I know you'll do it, Uncle Sam," 
 Jerome hastened to interpose. "I just thought 
 I'd like to hear you say you would. It does one 
 good to hear you say such things." 
 
 "Doan go off now an' larn ter 'spise de plan- 
 tation, Marse Romey," the old man said ad- 
 monishingly as Jerome turned to go; "doan go 
 off an' fergit de ole nigger, kase 'e's gwine ter 
 lub you ter de en', ter de en'." 
 
 "I shall learn to love the plantation better and 
 I shall never forget you. Uncle Sam — no, not till 
 I am too unworthy to remember how they said 
 you stood by my mother in the dark war-days," 
 responded Jerome with feeling. "And you shall 
 not find a lack of friendship while one of our 
 blood lives. I only wish everybody were as true," 
 he muttered moodily as he went up the walk. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 151 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 MAJOR GRAVES GOES SOUTH. 
 
 Major Creighton Graves seldom spoke at 
 random. When he told Colonel Watkins that he 
 was coming South on a fishing expedition, he 
 meant precisely what he said. Accordingly one 
 bright June day saw him alight from the train 
 at Ansonville. The Major was slightly grayer 
 than on his first trip, but his step was brisk and 
 his manner alert. His kindly eyes had in them 
 the twinkling good humor of a man who has 
 started a-fishing. Being overladen with his lug- 
 gage, he accosted a sleek young negro, who was 
 standing nearby on the platform, saying: "Here, 
 boy, take my baggage." 
 
 The negro instantly flew into a passion. "Who 
 are you talking to, white man ?" he cried, rolling 
 his eyes and lips in utter disdain and disgust. 
 "Does I look like a waiting boy? I'll have you 
 to know, sir, that I'm Mr. William Watkins!" 
 
 "You are an impudent scoundrel!" cried the 
 Major, throwing his baggage to the ground, "and 
 I'll teach you something that you won't soon for- 
 get." 
 
 But Bill did not wait for that lesson. He 
 turned and fled from his would-be assailant with 
 marvcbus swiftness. His swallow-tail coat 
 
152 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 fairly floated in the breeze as he sought the shel- 
 ter of a distant negro cabin. He almost shook 
 the door off its hinges. 
 
 "What in de Lord's name is de matter wid 
 you, nigger?" cried an old woman, looking up 
 from her wash tub. 
 
 Bill hurriedly explained the situation. 
 
 "Funny thing for a Yankee to do," he ran on ; 
 "mighty curious." 
 
 "Everyting's cur'us to er cur'us nigger, Bill. 
 En hit's gwineter git mo' cur "user if you don't 
 'have yo'se'f. Dese white fo'ks am all right 
 twell er a sassy nigger gits um all wrong. We 
 nebber had no sich foolishness fo' de war. I'll 
 bet er poun' uv soap you'se quit b'leevin' in 
 hants, an dat you aint got de lef hin' foot uv 
 grabe-ya'd rabbit in yo' pocket." 
 
 "Aw, you obstruct my sagacity," retorted Bill, 
 pulling a cigar from his pocket and sandwiching 
 it between his thick lips. 
 
 "You can't consult me in my house, nigger," 
 cried the old woman, wrathfully wringing a towel 
 from the suds, "an' me polly at dat. You've 
 done gone an' unsot my nervousness so much dat 
 I'll hab ter insult de Doctor. Git out'n heah, you 
 biggity nigger!" she cried Viith a fresh outburst 
 of wrath, "I ain't gv\^ineter stan' yo' sass if I is 
 yo' own aunt." 
 
 Bill sauntered off up the street, muttering: 
 "That's how much a colored lawyer is appre- 
 ciated in the South." 
 
 Major Graves was warmly welcomed at River- 
 wood, every member of the Colonel's family ex- 
 
The Girdle of The dREAf 153 
 
 tending him that hearty hospitality for which the 
 South is famous. "Glad to see you, sir, glad to 
 see you, sir," exclaimed the Colonel, forgetting 
 momentarily the twinge of rheumatism which for 
 several days had kept his face awry. "The sight 
 of you does my eyes good. And rheumatism or 
 no rheumatism, I'm going a-fishing with you. I 
 hope you have brought plenty of rods, reels, 
 tackle, etc." 
 
 "Yes, and I wanted a rod to tackle an impudent 
 negro over at Ansonville this morning worse 
 than Richard III. wanted a horse," said the 
 Major. He related the incident to the Colonel. 
 
 "Oh, yes — Bill, Sam's son," exclaimed the 
 Colonel. "That shows the folly of educating a 
 negro's head. It always gives him the big-head. 
 He came over here the other day and Sam 
 thrashed him before he had been on the place an 
 hour. 
 
 "But," the Colonel ran on, "I have never been 
 more surprised than by the change wrought at 
 Tuskeegee Institute in his brother Ben. " He's 
 come back to the plantation respectful, honest, 
 and industrious. He's down yonder now plow- 
 ing corn — the Colonel jerked his thumb toward 
 the river-bottom — and I really believe the In- 
 dustrial Institute will make a smart negro of 
 him." 
 
 "That has always been my idea of educating 
 the negro," said the Major, "such education as 
 Bill has received is but the sowing of dragon's 
 teeth. It will never benefit the negro and will 
 prove a curse to the South. I have heard muck 
 about the persecution of the negro; I think it's 
 
154 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 about time we are hearing something of the per- 
 secution of the white man. I am fully persuaded 
 that there is on the part of the best citizens of 
 the South no disposition to treat the negro un- 
 fairly." 
 
 "You are right, sir," replied the Colonel; "we 
 of the South most emphatically deny that we de- 
 sire the negro mistreated or in any way op- 
 pressed. Lynch-law is universally condemned 
 by our best citizens through their chief executives, 
 judges, juries, and ministers of the Gospel. 
 When crime has been committed, the officers of 
 the law act promptly, without passion or preju- 
 dice. The negro criminal is afforded the same 
 protection afforded the white criminal. 
 
 "But while we propose to treat the negro 
 fairly in every relation of life, we have neverthe- 
 less firmly and finally decreed that he shall not 
 be the subject of social honor and elevation at 
 the hands of the white man. Why should the 
 white man lower himself to lift up the negro? 
 What has the negro to give in exchange for 
 social equality ? Social equality has one tendency 
 and only one — (it has been true of all collateral 
 races) race-amalgamation. The blending of a su- 
 perior with an inferior race means the preserva- 
 tion of all the vices of the one with the weaken- 
 ing of all the virtues of the other. The negro's 
 uplift must come from within. You cannot 
 strengthen sand with steel." 
 
 Jerome, who had been hastening his prepara- 
 tions to enter Forest College, was sitting with 
 them on the veranda. He could scarcely suppress 
 an exclamation of delight at his father's strong 
 
The Girdle of the Great 155 
 
 nentality. He had known him as a pohshed gen- 
 tleman, and as a thoughtful student of affairs. 
 He had never before seen him in the role of a 
 philosopher. 
 
 Major Graves, too, betrayed his admiration of 
 the Colonel's keen introspective ability. 
 
 "You reason well, sir," he exclaimed heartily; 
 'but how, for the sake of argument, can the negro 
 develop those qualities that he does not possess? 
 We learn from astronomy that living bodies 
 spring from the impact of dead suns. But how 
 can a race sunk in the stupor of the ages rise 
 without help to the high seat of civilization and 
 culture? How otherwise can this dead sun, 
 veiled in the mists of centuries, eclipsed with ig- 
 norance and blackened with immorality, shine in 
 the sky of nations?" 
 
 The Major had unwittingly grown eloquent. 
 Though a merchant, he might have been a mas- 
 ter of rhetoric. The Colonel made no immediate 
 reply. His blue eyes had a far-ofif expression. 
 
 "Strength is either the result of the blending 
 of strong forces or the union of weak forces," 
 he said at length. "The amalgamation of these 
 two races in question would be a worthless hybrid 
 — such as you often see in the South to-day, sir. 
 In him you have the type of a race far inferior to 
 the white man, a stirrer up of race-antipathy, a 
 satire in black and white. Whatever of progress 
 the world has made is due to the Caucasian race. 
 The intellectuality of Asiatics, for instance, while 
 undeniable, is a dreamy, namby-pamby sort of 
 stuff, exhaling itself in Rnbaiyats of rose-red- 
 dened dawns and wine-flushed goblets. America 
 
156 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 has wrought what Europe has attempted and 
 Asia has dreamed. 
 
 "To establish a Social Equality between the 
 collateral races would be to fall behind the 
 Asiatic, to give the pennant of progress forever 
 to the Europeans." 
 
 "I am bitterly opposed to Social Equality; I 
 would not tolerate it for a thousandth part of a 
 second," interposed the Major kindly but em- 
 phatically. "I was only suggesting that possibly 
 the South had not paid sufficient attention to the 
 negro's development." 
 
 "You think, then, Major, that more attention is 
 pa;d to this in the North?" queried the Colonel, 
 with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Then you are more unjust to the negro than 
 we are." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because you take him away from work to 
 educate him, and then give him nothing to do. 
 You refine him sufficiently to ride in your cars, 
 but you won't help him pay his fare. We em- 
 ploy him in preference to the German and the 
 Swede ; and our laborers will work with him. A 
 white barber, for example, stands a poor chance 
 in the same town with a negro barber. 
 
 "Sam !" called the Colonel as the old negro en- 
 tered the gate. "Go and dig us some bait. We 
 want to go fishing after dinner." 
 
 "Yassir. dat I will, Marse Gawj," the old man 
 answered with alacrity. "An' I'll git de bes' 
 fishin' wu'ms on dis plantashun fer ye." 
 
 He shuffled of? eagerly in search of a grub- 
 
The Girdle of the Great 157 
 
 bing-hoe. "Marse Gawj," he cried suddenly, 
 facing about, "I'se gwineter dig plenty uv yeth- 
 wu'ms; but young ho'nits is de bes' pearch-bait 
 eber invinted fer fishermens. An' I knows right 
 whar I kin git 'er nes' ! Yassir, right down 
 yon'er in de ole goose-plum tree." 
 
 "All right, get them for us," cried the Colonel. 
 Old Sam double-quicked it around the corner of 
 the house. 
 
 "That's the best negro that ever lived," re- 
 marked the Colonel. "He's never given me a 
 bit of trouble. He's worked his youth out for 
 me, and now he's giving me his old age. God 
 bless his old black hide. I wouldn't give him 
 for the richest gold-mine in North Carolina. I 
 would divide my last crust of bread with him." 
 
 About three hours later the Colonel, the 
 Major and Jerome might have been seen seated 
 in a canoe near the mouth of the little creek 
 which emptied into the Pee Dee. The afternoon 
 was beautiful for fishing; a soft southerly breeze 
 fanned the water into silvery ripples. A stress of 
 bird calls rose from leafy retreats along the 
 shore. From Dr. Allen's plantation a negro song 
 floated clear and sweet over the river, its refrain 
 being : 
 
 Oh! liT David, play on 
 
 Yo' harp; 
 LiT David play on yo' harp, 
 
 LiT David; 
 LiT Da-a-a-a-a-v-i-d." 
 
 "My, that's a good one !" exclaimed the Colo- 
 
158 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 nel, adroitly paying out his line, then tightening 
 it with a sudden jerk. And sure enough, it 
 proved to be a big hurnp-backed "robin," as the 
 sun perch is called in some sections. The Colo- 
 nel removed him from the hook and cast him 
 into the basket with an Izaak Walton smile. 
 
 The Major's and Jerom^e's hooks remained 
 idle. 
 
 The negro's song came floating out again: 
 
 "Some tim' up, an' some tim' down, 
 Some tim' crawlin' on de groun'." 
 "Oh ! HT David, play on yo' harp, 
 LiT David, plav on yo' harp, 
 LiT David, D-'a-a-a-v-i-d !" 
 
 The song served to recall what the Major had 
 in mind when the Colonel received his big bite. 
 
 'T was just thinking how badly you need 
 skilled labor in the South, Colonel," he remarked. 
 
 "Yes," observed the Colonel, "we need it 
 sadly. But we shall be forced to take time to 
 make the negro a skilled laborer. He is our in- 
 dustrial mainstay. You all won't hire him in the 
 North. We prefer him to foreigners." 
 
 "Granting that that is true (and you mustn't 
 think me a fault-finder, my dear friend), don't 
 you Southern planters bank rather more on the 
 quantity of the land you cultivate than on the 
 quality and the skill of your laborers?" 
 
 "Yes," admitted the Colonel frankly, "that is 
 the usual case. We cannot remember that Lee's 
 surrender reduced our four-horse plantations to 
 one-horse farms. Less acreage and more efficient 
 
The Girdle of the Great 15^ 
 
 cultivation would work wonders in the South. 
 Tenants would soon become land-owners." 
 
 "By the way, who's our neighbors?" asked the 
 Major, indicating a newly-arrived canoe contain- 
 ing a couple of fishermen. 
 
 The Colonel strained his eyes. "They are 
 Doctor Allen and Mr. MacDonald, as best I can 
 see," growled the Colonel ; "that's enough to give 
 us the fisherman's luck — we'll catch eels and ter- 
 rapins all the evening." 
 
 The words were scarcely spoken when one of 
 the occupants of the new boat, in casting his line, 
 made a false movement, careening the canoe too 
 far to one side. The water rushed in and the 
 canoe filled rapidly. The occupants made a fran- 
 tic cry of appeal to the other boat as they floun- 
 dered about in the water. Neither of them could 
 swim. 
 
 "Put me ashore and go to the rescue!" cried 
 the Colonel. "You are lighter and stronger." 
 
 Jerome seized his paddle and. turning the boat, 
 quickly approached the shore. The Colonel clam- 
 bered out on a big rock, wisely realizing that his 
 weight and rheumatism would be a serious hand- 
 icap. 
 
 A few moments later Jerome and Major 
 Graves were on the scene of the disaster. Mr. 
 MacDonald with wonderful presence of mind had 
 clung to the boat, which had not sunk to the 
 bottom of the river. Dr. Allen was floundering 
 helplessly in the water. Quickly Jerome put the 
 boat alongside the struggling man, and Major 
 Graves, reaching over, pulled him with a great 
 effort into the boat. 
 
i6o The Girdle of the Great 
 
 Jerome's own hands rescued jMr. MacDonald. 
 Both the banker and the doctor were well nigh 
 exhausted and could do little more than stare 
 blankly at their preservers. When they were 
 finally on the shore they gave a great sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 The Doctor recovered his voice with a shud- 
 dering gasp. How vividly now that night on 
 the silent battle-field came back!" — the white 
 face, the weak voice, the fearless manner, all 
 these had stamped themselves indelibly upon his 
 memory. And memory was playing him no 
 trick. They came before him again —only 
 stronger, that was all. And he would have 
 robbed — would have killed the man who had res- 
 cued him. He would have thanked the i\Iajor 
 to let him drown. 
 
 That would have been a kindly fate compared 
 to being forced to face the Major under such cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 'T — thank — you — sir — for — saving — my — 
 life," the Doctor gasped, looking on the ground. 
 
 "I have always made it a point to relieve those 
 in distress," the Major replied in a manner whose 
 very mildness was an edged tool to the Doctor's 
 conscience; or, rather, to where his conscience 
 ought to be. The Doctor had always relieved the 
 distressed — of their valnahles. 
 
 Mr. MacDonald was not a whit less embar- 
 rassed than Doctor Allen. He had come down 
 to Rocky Heights for a little outing, and more 
 particularly for a little inning with reference to 
 Doctor Allen's pocketbook. He had a large 
 scheme on hand. To be rescued froni drowning 
 
The Girdle of the Great" j6i 
 
 by Jerome Watkins was more than he had bar- 
 gained for. He also gasped his gratitude and, 
 in company with Doctor Allen, dragged his drip- 
 ping body toward Rocky Heights. 
 
 The Colonel's party proceeded with their fish- 
 ing. 
 
 "I told you we'd have fisherman's luck," 
 laughed the Colonel; "we've caught a terrapin 
 and an eel." 
 
l62 
 
 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 
 
 Jerome's feelings as he passed the Banker's 
 house, on his way to college a few days later, 
 without even so much as a glimpse of Maxine, 
 can scarcely be imagined Had she proven false 
 to him, after all? Was she no better than a 
 flirt? An airy belle whose flippant heart and 
 head were full of fleeting fancies? Doubtless 
 her grand theories about Education and Oppor- 
 tunity and the South ^yere but barriers to block 
 his way. He knew that women often set im- 
 possible standards in order to rid themselves of 
 objectionable suitors. He knew equally well 
 that some stupid, stylish fop with his small talk 
 of races, prize-fights, etc., often captured the af- 
 fection denied to men of strength. He recalled 
 a verse from Tennyson: 
 
 "As the husband is the wife is ; 
 Thou art mated with a clown: 
 And the grossness of his nature 
 Will have weight to drag thee down." 
 
 Despite his disappointment, however, Jerome 
 could not bring himself to fancy Maxine as 
 Gabriel's wife. That was too incongruous. Their 
 
The Girdle of the Great 163 
 
 ideals were utterly dissimilar. It would be like 
 the mating of Light and Darkness — Treachery 
 and Truth — the Dove in the Vulture's nest. 
 
 There was, he admitted, a strain of superior 
 mettle in Maxine's character. Otherwise she 
 would have allowed Riverwood to pass into alien 
 hands. He recalled it all with a thrill of sweet 
 and lingering delight. Yes, her's was a choice 
 spirit. There was some secret and well-founded 
 reason why she refused to see him. The Banker 
 could not have turned her against him. 
 
 Her will was too strong to be easily broken. 
 All the bankers in Christendom could not break 
 that bond of steel. He suddenly resolved not to 
 misjudge her. He would treat her fairly. He 
 would wait for an explanation of the curt note 
 of refusal in response to his own requesting to 
 see her. 
 
 The delightful fragrance of summer's last 
 roses scented the air. On every hand rose the 
 varied sounds of a sleepy country village; the 
 rattle and rumble of wagon wheels, the shouts of 
 youngsters, the voices of housewives calling to 
 each otlier across the streets. Between the 
 brown and leaden-gray cottages Jerome caught 
 broad vistas of the sky, touched here and there 
 with the crimson cressets of morning. He drew 
 the pure, rich air deeply into his lungs. Every 
 muscle quivered with strength ; every nerve tin- 
 gled with anticipation. It was his Day of Life — 
 his day of exodus from driveling toil into the 
 wider world of golden hope. His mother's kiss 
 seemed to linger yet upon his lips ; his hands still 
 ached from his father's powerful pressure, bid- 
 
164 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 ding him God-speed. If only Maxine had bid- 
 den him good-bye and God-speed! If only she 
 had waved her handkerchief, as the fair ladies 
 of ancient days had waved their kerchiefs to his 
 knightly forebears ! But no — she had failed him 
 at the last. He must enter the lists without the 
 benison of his Lady Fair. He lifted his eyes 
 with resolution and gazed straight ahead. Far 
 down the street he saw a woman's figure ap- 
 proaching him. She was dressed in white, the 
 color he loved best. Her walk was familiar to 
 him. How could he forget that easy, graceful 
 carriage? And she was not alone. A man oc- 
 companied her — a man whom Jerome would 
 have spurned with his foot. 
 
 She had spent the night with a girl friend and 
 was hurrying home to preside at the Banker's 
 breakfast. As she was passing the bank, Gabriel, 
 who slept there and took his meals at Mr. Mac- 
 Donald's, had come out and joined her. 
 
 To Jerome the meeting seemed prearranged — ■ 
 at least, pleasant to the parties. He could not 
 see Maxine's frown of impatience. She was 
 always rather "offish" in her street attitude, and 
 that could tell him nothing. Nor did Gabriel 
 notice these little fire-flings. The Banker had 
 told him to be patient and persistent. And he 
 purposed to be. 
 
 Finally the pedestrians met and passed. Max- 
 ine colored, appeared confused, murmured "Mr. 
 Watkins !" Gabriel scowled savagely, but said 
 nothing. Jerome raised his hat stiffiy. 
 
 He seemed to have reached the parting of the 
 ways, and to have passed on — on into a new 
 
The Girdle of the Great 165 
 
 world. The verse from Tennyson rang in his 
 ears with maddening mockery. He sighed for 
 the waters of Lethe that he might drink and 
 forget. 
 
 Before him seemed to rise a spirit with flam- 
 ing torch. Emblazoned on her glistening robe 
 was "Progress." Her face was to the fu- 
 ture. In this creature of fancy he recognized the 
 Genius of the New South. To her should be 
 given his faith — his allegiance — for her he would 
 live and die. She at least would be true to her- 
 self and to him. She held the heart strings of 
 a mighty people. Beneath the silvery strains of 
 her Orphean lute the trees that thickened and 
 throttled and darkened the mental realm of his 
 native state would leave their places to move as 
 men in the mighty processional of master minds. 
 And no longer would it be left for the blindest 
 cynic to sneer in piping, sour tone: *T see men 
 as trees walking." 
 
 * * * * * * * 
 
 In due time Jerome arrived at Forest College. 
 It was a lovely place, even as a painter or a poet 
 would count loveliness. 
 
 Stately, classical-looking trees rose like masts 
 from the emerald, grassy billows of the rolling 
 campus. They were, indeed, survivors of the 
 primeval forest — druidic oaks to hold the youth 
 of the state in close communion with "ye olden 
 time" — shadowing spirits of strength and bene- 
 diction. Cone-shaped magnolias dotted the 
 grounds, half screening rustic seats whereon am- 
 bitious youth might con poetic Virgil or pour 
 dulcet odes into the ear of listening Beauty, The 
 
i66 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 buildings were all of red brick and so grouped 
 together as to suggest a line of forts. And they 
 were forts in which seniors and raw (fresh) re- 
 cruits moulded mental bullets to penetrate the 
 black battalions of Ignorance. A neat little vil- 
 lage stretched away from the college like float- 
 ing fibre from a nucleus. 
 
 The streets were wide and flanked with spread- 
 ing elms. The houses were for the most part 
 old fashioned — set high up with basements. 
 Strawberry beds and grape arlx)rs were largely 
 in evidence, and specially attractive during the 
 fruitful season. 
 
 The villagers were long-suffering, worthy ex- 
 amples of patient piety. The expression of their 
 faces was like that of a camel. They realized 
 that they held their property as a noblesse oblige. 
 The students stole their fruit, plundered their 
 hen-houses, and married their daughters. These 
 acts were regarded as necessary evils. 
 
 But during vacation season the villagers were 
 so lonely that they audibly sighed for some one 
 to worry them. They became passive advocates 
 of the doctrine of Strenuous Life. 
 
 With no window-panes to replace, and no 
 fences to repair, existence waxed wearisome. The 
 student was, therefore, regarded somewhat as the 
 mosquito — a creature of attractive voice and un- 
 pleasant manners, but an unmistakable factor (if 
 not benefactor) in life; a creature to correct 
 ennui, a creature to appear at the most unac- 
 countable times and places, and to invariably dis- 
 appear richer than he came. 
 
 Jerome did not know all of these things when 
 
The Girdle of the Great 167 
 
 he first set foot on the classic soil of Forest Col- 
 lege, as he knew them later. He was burden- 
 some only to himself. In truth he felt hke a 
 disjointed unit of the universe. Everything was 
 strange to him, and he began to feel lonely. He 
 went almost immediately to the president's office. 
 Doctor Bowman was busily engaged with a 
 batch of letters. He looked up kindly as Jerome 
 entered. "Glad to see you, ]\Ir. Watkins!" he 
 exclaimed, warmly wringing Jerome's hand. 
 "You're just in time to rescue me. I'm up to 
 my eyes in correspondence. If you will be kind 
 enough to draw your chair up to that desk" — 
 the president indicated a small waiting-desk at 
 his left — "I will let you answer some of my let- 
 ters. Do you know shorthand?" 
 
 Jerome regretted that he did not, but he could 
 write rapidly and very legibly. He would study 
 shorthand if the President desired it. 
 
 Doctor Bowman expressed surprise at the re- 
 markable rapidity with which Jerome wrote the 
 small, neat italic-looking letters across the pages. 
 His writing resembled ancient script. He was 
 always thankful that Doctor Bowman put him 
 immediately to work. It drove the incipient 
 sickness from his heart. 
 
 Next morning he matriculated and entered his 
 classes. He found, to his surprise, that he was 
 sufficiently far advanced to enter the junior class. 
 His preparation at the Pee Dee Academy had 
 been thorough. Also he had studied much at 
 night. 
 A few days after his arrival at Forest College 
 
l68 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 he received a letter which set his heart athrob. It 
 was from Maxine and read: 
 
 "My dear Mr. Watkins : 
 
 "You doubtless think strange of my recent 
 attitude toward you. But circumstances beyond 
 my control rendered it necessary. Some day I 
 will fully explain my situation. It is best for you 
 that I should not do so now. Do not forget your 
 ideal. Live and labor for our New South — and 
 trust me. 
 
 "Sincerely your friend, 
 
 "Maxine MacDonald." 
 
 Jerome thrust the letter in his pocket with a 
 great sigh of disappointment. The mystery 
 deepened and darkened. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 169 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE COILS OF COMMERCIALISM. 
 
 Mr. MacDonald sat in his easy chair. In fact, 
 Mr. MacDonald's chair was always easy when 
 financial figures moved to the melody of his mas- 
 ter mind. They pleased him well now. A recent 
 venture in the cotton market had brought him 
 handsome returns. The greed of the gambler 
 shone in the cold, ice-like glitter of his small, 
 shrewd eyes. If he could only run the gauntlet 
 of the bears of Wall Street at the present rate 
 he would be a millionaire! His heart throbbed 
 with the thought. "Um — ah!" he exclaimed 
 aloud as a magnificent vista of shining yellow 
 metal burst on his financial fancy. 
 
 He arose from his chair and nervously paced 
 the floor. The figures on the wall paper became 
 dollar-marks. He started as a clink of coins 
 reached him from the cashier's window. Sounds 
 often convey ideas, and Mr. MacDonald was sud- 
 denly aware of a very significant idea. Why not 
 enlist Gabriel in the enterprise? Sooner or later 
 he would have to do so. The most import'dut 
 man in a matter like that was the man behind 
 the books. Yes, he must have help. The idea 
 burned into Mr. MacDonald's brain till it burned 
 out the last coal of his smouldering conscience. 
 
170 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 • — -«« 
 
 He wanted to get rich,* and' to get rich quick. 
 The cotton market afforded the best opportunity. 
 To the cotton market, therefore, he would go on 
 a larger scale than ever. With two to cover his 
 tracks who would ever be the wiser? 
 
 He peered cautiously through his wicket to see 
 if the coast was clear, then called Gabriel into his 
 office and unfolded his proposition. 
 
 Gabriel accepted it with alacrity. He saw a 
 sure road to Maxine's heart; he saw a way to 
 get the Banker in his power. Oh ! yes, he would 
 persuade his father to make larger deposits; he 
 would make false entries; he would do anything 
 that Mr. MacDonald suggested; he had perfect 
 confidence in his integrity and sound business 
 judgment. He fairly bubbled over with enthu- 
 siasm. 
 
 "You've got the right mettle (the Banker 
 would have spelled it metal) in you, Gabriel," 
 exclaimed Mr. MacDonald with a ring of deep 
 satisfaction in his tone. "And you shall have 
 Maxine" — he gripped his chair and leaned far 
 over, his voice sinking to a hoarse whisper — "you 
 shall have her in spite of h — 11 !" 
 
 "And I will have her in spite of it," said Ga- 
 briel, the weak lines about his mouth hardening 
 to something like strength; "and in spite of all 
 
 the Watkinses between here and there." 
 
 * * * ;^ * * * 
 
 Gabriel and Mr. MacDonald had little difficulty 
 in persuading Doctor Allen that the deposit of a 
 certain amount of money, which had recently 
 come into his possession, was necessary to a 
 
The Girdle of the Great 171 
 
 shrewd deal in mining land. The money was 
 promptly put on the Cotton Exchange. 
 
 "I'll tell you, old Mac's a good one," the Doc- 
 tor would say to Gabriel when he inquired about 
 his bank account and found it unexpectedly large. 
 "But we must watch him. He's slick as an eel. 
 But he's not a bit slicker than your daddy at that. 
 He'll find out that he can't pull the wool over 
 my eyes." 
 
 "We're getting the old man on the string," the 
 Banker would laughingly remark to Gabriel. 
 "We'll make him rich while he sleeps. He'll 
 wake up to find himself a millionaire." 
 
 One day when Mr. MacDonald needed a cer- 
 tain amount of money to meet a bellow of the 
 Bulls he sold his interest in the Brandon place to 
 Doctor Allen for a sum far below the Doctor's 
 expectations. 
 
 The little man was almost beside himself with 
 joy. "Gabriel," he confided, "I've made the deal 
 of my life. Old Mac's sold me the Brandon 
 Place. Watkins's claim can be contested. I'm 
 satisfied that I can" — he dropped his voice to a 
 whisper — "manage the jury. Go it, boy, and 
 keep on the good side of, Old Mac. I'll set you 
 up some day." 
 
 Gabriel tried hard to seem elated at the pros- 
 pect. He smiled dryly, and assured his father 
 that he would do his best to keep in the good 
 graces of the Banker. 
 
 Phenomenal success rewarded the Banker's 
 speculation in cotton futures. He climbed higher 
 and higher on the giddy, glittering pinnacle. 
 
172 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 Everything seemed to be coming his way. He 
 indulged dreams of a gigantic manufacturing 
 trust — a trust that would control the output of 
 the Southern States. He would be its president, 
 its dictator, its demi-god. 
 
 While this dream was at its height Gabriel left 
 the cashier's window and entered the banker's 
 sanctum. 
 
 "Say, Mr. MacDonald," he broke in almost ab- 
 ruptly, "I've just been wondering what my share 
 in this speculation is to be. I want to have an 
 understanding with you about it. The chickens 
 are beginning to pip their shells now, and I 
 want to know how many are to occupy my coop." 
 
 "Oh, well, we'll come to some terms about 
 that," replied the Banker quietly; "we'll just be 
 partners for the present and divide up later. Let 
 the chickens stay together 'till they are well 
 grown." 
 
 "But that don't satisfy me," persisted Gabriel. 
 "I must have some definite understanding about 
 it. There are too many twists and turns in money 
 matters. You've got to name your dollars nowa- 
 days before you can claim 'em." 
 
 "How about five hundred dollars?" queried 
 the Banker tentatively. 
 
 "Five hundred devils !" cried Gabriel, red with 
 rage. "Do you think I am on charity?" 
 
 "No, but that seems to me a first-rate fee for 
 what you have done — only a little soliciting from 
 your father." 
 
 "Well, you'll double it or I'll have my father 
 soliciting some funds from you," retorted Ga- 
 briel. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 173 
 
 The Banker trembled and lost color. "Why, I 
 was only joking you," he said. "I never expected 
 to offer you less than one thousand. And you 
 may have that to-day if you want it." 
 
 "Oh, no," replied Gabriel, "I don't need it; I 
 just wanted an understanding about it. I'm per- 
 fectly satisfied to have it here." 
 
 After this the Banker and Gabriel became more 
 intimate than ever. The shining coils of com- 
 mercialism clasped them more and more tightly 
 'till every sense of honor was deadened. And 
 they played their desperate game for all it was 
 worth. 
 
174 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE MANIA OF THE MOB. 
 
 Two years had passed rapidly. Jerome had 
 graduated with honor at Forest College. He 
 had, it is true, taken neither the valedictory nor 
 the salutatory, but he had won a medal for the 
 best essay, his subject being, "The Needs of the 
 New South." 
 
 This article had been so highly esteemed by a 
 distinguished Northern editor, selected as one 
 of the Committee to award the prize, that he had 
 subsequently published it in one of the leading 
 magazines of the country. 
 
 It was a beautiful, balmy June day when Jer- 
 ome left Forest College for Ansonville. 
 
 He was so anxious to see Maxine, who had 
 written him frequently of late, that he could not 
 wait for the slow little train to back in to An- 
 sonville. Accordingly he jumped off at the "Y," 
 and started to walk the remaining quarter of a 
 mile. 
 
 His heart was full of hope. All his struggles 
 — and they had been severe struggles — to com- 
 plete his college course were behind him at last. 
 He had seen little of Maxine these two fleeting, 
 yet full, years. He had denied himself the pleas- 
 
The Girdle of the Great 175 
 
 lire of her presence, meaning to demand interest 
 for the future. In a hasty interview she had 
 told him why she had formerly refused to see 
 him. It was merely to test him and to secure for 
 him a season of peace, during which he might 
 pursue his studies without interruption from 
 Gabriel and the Banker. Jerome had accepted 
 that explanation as perfectly natural and satis- 
 factory. 
 
 The Banker's ban still remained. But to-day 
 Jerome had determined to disregard it. It was 
 the day of his triumph, the day of days when 
 Maxine was to give him her promise to be his 
 wife. This day love would laugh at bans and 
 bankers as it laughed at locksmiths. 
 
 A long lane seemed the past — a lane without 
 turning, a thorny trail of sacrifice and struggle 
 against overwhelming odds. He was nearing 
 the end of it now. He could see it merging into 
 a broad highway of progress. With Maxine at 
 his side he would climb the mountain to the 
 Pisgah of the present, that he might gaze across 
 the misty vales into the promised land of the 
 Future South. 
 
 He could almost see the dreamy love-light in 
 Maxine's eyes. How it would beam upon him ! 
 How he yearned to see the pearls of purity and 
 power in those blue seas! She had refused to 
 express her love for him to enable him to com- 
 plete his course unhampered — that was all. He 
 realized it now as never before. She was the 
 one woman among a thousand — among ten thou- 
 sand — a woman whose strength had not stolen 
 her sweetness. His love had been a passion, then 
 
176 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 a principle. Now it was leaping back to a pas- 
 sion deep as the ocean of time — to passion prime- 
 val, ere the voice of God walked among the Eden 
 trees in the cool of the evening. 
 
 Jerome walked rapidly into the village, but 
 he found himself wishing that his feet were shod 
 wnth the wings of Hermes. 
 
 The rattle of wheels suddenly averted his at- 
 tention. Nearer, nearer it came, lengthening into 
 a prolonged whirr. 
 
 His heart almost stopped as the buggy drew 
 near. Its occupants were Maxine and Gabriel 
 Allen. A moment later they dashed by, Maxine's 
 face pinched and pale. She spoke to Jerome as 
 they passed, but he heard not, and stared after 
 the disappearing buggy with unseeing eyes. A 
 little while afterwards an elderly man, whom he 
 recognized as the Rev. Peter Colbrem, pastor of 
 the Presbyterian Church at Ansonville, drove by, 
 going in the same direction Gabriel had taken. 
 
 A sickening sensation gripped Jerome's heart. 
 What coincidence of fate had flaunted that scene 
 in his face both on his departure for, and his 
 return from, college? This then was to be his 
 reward ? This was her boasted fidelity ! She who 
 had set such store by the heritage of her schol- 
 arly forebear had finally hugged the golden feet 
 of Mammon. Mr. MacDonald had had his way, 
 and — oh, irony of fate! — on the very day of 
 triumph. All the years of toil, of discourage- 
 ment, of defeat, of dearly-bought victory, rose 
 up afresh before Jerome. For this he had 
 Avaited and struggled and threaded his way, 
 through thorns and thistles, to be deceived, to be 
 
The Girdle of the Great 177 
 
 jilted for a worthless jade. His heart rebelled 
 at the thought. Why not sow the wind and reap 
 the whirlwind ! Was life a hidden sting — a fraud 
 in flowers? Enough of it; he would be no hypo- 
 critical bumble-bee posing in pinks and lilies — he 
 would come out and sting the world openly, and 
 he would leave the sting, leave it to rot and 
 rankle in the flesh, if he died for it. But no. he 
 reasoned, man was something more than a vin- 
 dictive creature with pent-up spleen. He was a 
 creature superior to the horned brute and the 
 daggered insect. The strength of the modern 
 man was not measured by brute blows, nor by 
 adroit stings, but by ability to exercise self-con- 
 trol. The greater coward was he whose anger 
 mastered him. Then Jerome pulled off his hat 
 and, baring his head to heaven, resolved that he 
 would follow the path of honor if all the world 
 went false. He resolved to be a gentleman to the 
 end of the life-day. 
 
 Late in the evening, foot-sore and weary, he 
 reached Riverwood. As he drew near the Big 
 Gate old Sam, who was feeding some hogs near- 
 by, shambled eagerly forward to meet him. 
 
 "Bress my soul, honey, bress my soul, is dat 
 you ? 'Dun graduwated an' walked home ? Laws- 
 a-massy, why didn't you tell us w'en you wuz 
 a-cumin' ? Des walkin' home like po' white trash. 
 My! My! My!" 
 
 He gathered up Jerome's gripsack. "Wat's 
 de matter, is yer sick, Marse Romey," he asked 
 suddenly in a tone of uneasiness as he gazed into 
 the young man's face. 
 
 "No; how are they all?" Jerome gasped. 
 
178 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 "Dey's all well 'cept yo' pa ; he's got de room- 
 itiz, er hit's got him, I dunno which!" 
 
 "What's the matter with you, have you been 
 sick?" The question sprang spontaneously — 
 almost simultaneously from the lips of Jerome's 
 family. 
 
 He responded that he was quite well. 
 
 "It's overstudy, then," said the Colonel, rais- 
 ing himself, not without a twinge of pain to a 
 more comfortable position in his great arm-chair. 
 "Major Graves wrote me the other day that he 
 was specially anxious for you to make him a 
 visit. And, while we regret to give you up so 
 soon, my son, I really think it will help you to 
 take the trip. It will help you in many ways. 
 Every citizen should visit at least the great 
 metropolis of his country. In order to know life 
 you must see it in all its flood, and feel its ebb 
 and flow." 
 
 Jerome heard eagerly what his father had said 
 and resolved to accept the Major's invitation in 
 person. 
 
 "Things are looking up on the plantation," the 
 Colonel continued. "Sam's boy, Ben, has learned 
 to be a first-rate farmer. We made more corn, 
 cotton and tobacco this year than we've ever 
 made. Give me that Industral Institute for a 
 nigger every timiC, if it's doing work like the 
 transformation of Ben." 
 
 Three days later Jerome reached New York 
 City. He had asked nothing about Gabriel and 
 Maxine before leaving Ansonville. He had re- 
 solved to drop the day of their memory from the 
 
The Girdle of the Great 179 
 
 calendar of his mind — to blot out the fact of 
 their existence from the pages of his present, 
 past and future. 
 
 Major Graves was not at the station to meet 
 him, but Jerome had his address. He accord- 
 ingly hailed a cab, entered and settled himself 
 comfortably in the seat to review as much as pos- 
 sible the buildings along the streets he passed 
 down. 
 
 He was awed by the magnitude and magnifi- 
 cence of the city — its towering buildings that 
 seemed to scrape the sky, its hurrying throngs, 
 mingling every nation of the globe in one great 
 maddening maelstrom. 
 
 Suddenly a shot rang out and a murmur like 
 the bellow of stampeding steers rose from the 
 multitude. Jerome's cab stopped abruptly, with 
 a jarring jerk. Almost simultaneously he caught 
 sight of a fleeing negro, a crowd of whites close 
 on his heels. In the negro's hand was a smoking 
 revolver. Cries of "Stop him!" "Lynch him!" 
 "Kill him!" rent the air. But in the negro's left 
 hand was a razor and the crowd fell back before 
 him. 
 
 The negro was running straight toward the 
 cab in which Jerome was seated and. with a start, 
 Jerome recognized that he was Bill, old Sam's 
 son. 
 
 The memory of how old Sam had saved him 
 from a black mob surged swiftly back to Jerome's 
 mind and, leaping from the cab, he stood await- 
 ing Bill. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Jerome, save me ! Stop them ! Save 
 me," panted the negro. Recognizing Jerome, he 
 
i8o The Girdle of the Great 
 
 had dashed more quickly forward, his eyes bright 
 with terror and vague hope. 
 
 "Throw down that razor, then!" shouted 
 Jerome. Bill did as he was bidden, and a second 
 later stood cowering and trembling at Jerome's 
 side. 
 
 "Get in this cab, quick!" cried Jerome, push- 
 ing the negro in feet foremost, and closing the 
 door with a crash. He had scarcely done so 
 when the mob was at his heels. 
 
 Tall, sinewy, strong, he wheeled and faced 
 them, deathless determination in his dark eyes, 
 his lips like chilled steel. A roar of baffled rage 
 rose from the mob — a babel of many nations. 
 Every man's hand was against the negro — 
 against Ishmael, as his hand was against them — 
 and, w^hite man or no white man, they swore to 
 tear the negro from the cab. 
 
 With a courage cool, calculating and deter- 
 mined, Jerome quickly told them that they should 
 not. One man against a hundred he stood, but 
 the living fire that had always lurked in his pool- 
 black eyes held the mob in check. There were 
 men of greater height and broader girth in the 
 mob that day who bowed to his superior will. 
 
 Jerome realized that he could not long con- 
 trol the mania of the mob. He was only fight- 
 ing for time — 'till the police could rally. 
 
 "Don't you know he's killed an officer?" cried 
 a big burly man with a beer bottle. 
 
 "I don't know what he's done," replied Jerome, 
 "I only know that the law shall be allowed to 
 take its course. I am not trying to keep him 
 from the law, but from the mob." 
 
The Girdle of the Great i8i 
 
 "Come on, boys, let's swing him, too !" cried 
 the big man, leaping forward; "we'll make it a 
 double hanging." 
 
 The crowd cheered and followed suit. But the 
 big man suddenly received a blow in the face 
 which brought him low like the boastful Goliath, 
 and Jerome was just preparing to administer the 
 same treatment to another one when the mob 
 melted away before a score of clubbing police- 
 men. 
 
 Jerome quickly threw open the cab-door, pulled 
 Bill out and surrendered him to them. 
 
 "They'll see that you have a fair trial," he 
 said to the negro, "and if you need any money 
 to employ a lawyer I'll get it for you." 
 
 Bill gasped his gratitude. 
 
 "You've got good grit in you, young man, 
 whoever you are," said the tall captain of police, 
 slapping Jerome on the shoulder. "I wish we 
 had you on the force." 
 
 "Thank you," returned Jerome, "I'm glad to 
 have been of service to you. I did what I thought 
 was right." 
 
 Then the patrol-wagon rattled off, and Jerome, 
 entering his cab, proceeded on his way to Major 
 Graves's house. 
 
 Next morning a great Metropolitan daily had 
 this headline: 
 
 "SOUTHERNER DEFENDS NEGRO FROM 
 NORTHERN MOB." 
 
 "Eh, what are we coming to, Jerome?" ex- 
 claimed Major Graves, holding up the paper. 
 
l82 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 " 'Southerner defends negro from Northern 
 mob!' Did you ever hear of such a thing?" 
 
 "Yes, I saw it." 
 
 "Saw what, the headhne?" 
 
 "No, the scene." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "I was there." 
 
 "You ?" 
 
 "Yes, I was the Southerner," repHed Jerome 
 modestly. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 183 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 "the mills of the gods/* 
 
 One who chanced to see Mr. Hector MacDon- 
 ald on a certain day in July would have noticed 
 striking changes in his appearance. His smooth- 
 shaven face was thinner than usual and noticeably 
 wrinkled and careworn. Much of his cool, cal- 
 culating attitude had been lost ; he was almost a 
 nervous wreck. The strain of the desperate game 
 which he had been playing with fortune and mis- 
 fortune had sapped his strength. The Wall 
 Street speculations had long been going against 
 him; he had reached the ebb of his golden tide. 
 Still, like the desperate gambler, he was always 
 hoping for a lucky turn, comforting his perturbed 
 spirit with original proverbs, such as "It's an ill 
 Bear that growls nobody good," etc. 
 
 For another reason, too, the Banker had con- 
 tinued to speculate; that whenever one gets en- 
 tangled in the intricate meshes of the great Wall 
 Street net one never knows how to get out. 
 
 Mr. MacDonald had depended on a fortunate 
 rise in cotton. 
 
 "We must make a big throw to-day," he said 
 
 to Gabriel one evening. "Everything is ripe for 
 
 it. We'll yet make a big haul. What say you?" 
 
 ^ . "It's high time we were doing something," 
 
184 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 growled Gabriel, who had just received a rebuff 
 from an unexpected quarter and was, therefore, 
 in no great good humor. 
 
 Accordingly, the Banker cast his bank bills, or 
 the bank bills of his depositors, upon the "water." 
 He was confident of a "big haul." He had su- 
 preme confidence in "Poindexter & Co.," his 
 agents. They were old and reliable. They knew 
 all the wiles and whims of the "Bulls and Bears." 
 They had always kept Mr. MacDonald fully 
 posted. 
 
 But shortly after this deposit (which was by 
 far the largest he had made with them), "Poin- 
 dexter & Co." went to the wall. The news came 
 to Mr. MacDonald like a thunderclap from a clear 
 sky. It almost prostrated him. His eyes receded 
 in his head, his face became colorless and flabby. 
 He knew that he was doomed. The figures on 
 the wall-paper of his sanctum changed form 
 again; this time they became long bars of white 
 and black, like the stripes of felons. Almost on 
 the heels of the Wall Street disaster the State 
 Bank Examiner arrived in Ansonville. He was 
 the pale cashier whom Mr. MacDonald had dis- 
 charged, and the Banker knew what the rigid 
 examination would reveal. 
 
 Owing to the lateness of the train, it was night 
 when the Bank Examiner arrived, and the ex- 
 amination was, therefore, postponed 'till next 
 morning. Mr. MacDonald, having learned from 
 Ananias Blake that the Bank Examiner had ar- 
 rived, hurriedly summoned Gabriel to his pri- 
 vate office. 
 
 "We've got to get away from here, or else go 
 
The Girdle of the Great 185 
 
 to the Penitentiary," said Mr. MacDonald with a 
 strangling sigh. "We have only $500 in the 
 bank. Let's divide and skip." 
 
 "Hold on, old man," observed Gabriel brutally. 
 "You haven't toted fair with me. You got me into 
 this business; you got me to ruin my old daddy, 
 and you ain't offering me but $250 for it. You've 
 frequently promised to make Maxine marry me 
 and as frequently broken your word. Marriage 
 with her is now my only means of getting any 
 money. She's got property apart from what 
 you embezzled from her" — the Banker's pallid 
 face showed a stain of color at this charge — "and 
 I am going to have it." 
 
 He suddenly rose and pressed a pistol to the 
 Banker's temple. "Now, come right along and 
 tell that contrary niece of yours what she's got 
 to do. I'm a desperate man, and if you cross 
 me you die." 
 
 Mr. MacDonald started visibly, his flabby jaw 
 dropped, his teeth chattered. "Why— what— has 
 — possessed — you — Gabriel?" he gasped. 
 
 "The devil — you — but you don't possess me 
 any more. I'm going to be my own boss awhile 
 — and Maxine's." 
 
 He took the Banker roughly by the shoulder. 
 "Come on and let's fix up the fun. We'll take 
 along Ananias Blake, J. P." 
 
 Mr. MacDonald rose tremblingly, picked up his 
 hat and followed Gabriel out into the street. 
 
 At the corner they were joined by Ananias 
 Blake. Gabriel's stride and that of Ananias was 
 steady and strong, the Banker's faltering and 
 
i86 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 feeble, his cane careening on the loose boards of 
 the sidewalk. 
 
 They silently entered the Banker's house like 
 black birds of ill-omen. 
 
 Maxine was seated in the parlor reading a 
 magazine. She rose stiffly as they filed in. 
 
 "Maxine," the Banker began abruptly, sum- 
 moning up all his failing strength, "we've come 
 to marry you to Gabriel." 
 
 "To marry me to Gabriel?" she echoed. "You 
 are thoughtful, uncle. It is kind of you to tell 
 me. I might not have had time to arrange my 
 trousseau." 
 
 Tall and graceful she confronted them, her 
 fair cheeks shot through with color. 
 
 "Oh, it don't matter about the trousseau," Ga- 
 briel broke in impatiently. "Come, Ananias, get 
 your ceremony ready." 
 
 "What ceremony, sir!" Maxine cried, her 
 bosom heaving, her eyes blazing with half con- 
 trolled anger. "I am aware of no ceremony in 
 which I am in the slightest degree interested. I 
 am surprised, uncle," she went on, turning to 
 Mr. MacDonald, "that you allow me to be in- 
 sulted in your own house, and before your eyes." 
 
 "You haven't any license, Gabriel," whined 
 the Banker, catching at the last straw. 
 
 "Haven't I ?" cried Gabriel, pulling an official 
 envelope from his pocket, "well, this tells an- 
 other tale. Come on, Maxine," he continued, "I 
 am not going to have any foolishness to-night." 
 
 He took a step forward. 
 
 "You earth scum!" she cried, her beautiful 
 eyes aflame with infinite scorn. "Do you think 
 
The Girdle of the Great 187 
 
 you can frighten me, coward !" Her hand fell 
 swiftly to her side, and from her girdle she re- 
 moved an exquisite pearl-handled penknife. "I 
 do not fear death. Why should I fear you? 
 Only this — death — is preferable to you." 
 
 "Maxy! Maxy!" remonstrated Mr. MacDon- 
 ald, his face purple from the nervous strain he 
 was undergoing, "try to be reasonable, dear. Ga- 
 briel only means to do right. He loves you " 
 
 "I hate him !" she exclaimed, stamping her 
 foot. "I would sooner love a frog." 
 
 "You hate me, then !" Gabriel cried, a terrible 
 expression in his eyes. "Take that back or die !" 
 He drew a pistol and leveled it at her heart. 
 Ananias Blake's earth-colored face faded to a 
 lifeless gray; he stood rooted to the floor, para- 
 lyzed in every limb. But the Banker, with a last 
 noble impulse — the supreme cleaving of blood 
 to blood — grasped Gabriel's arm, and with all 
 his feeble strength, sought to wrest the pistol 
 from him. In some way. whether intentionally 
 or not was never known, the weapon discharged, 
 the ball entering the Banker's breast. He sank 
 to the floor with a groan, the blood weltering 
 from the wound. He tried to speak, but his voice 
 sank with a gurgling gasp. A convulsive shud- 
 der passed through his frame, and he was dead. 
 He had robbed the pale cashier of his triumph, 
 and gone up to face his record on the greater 
 book. 
 
 Maxine had fainted and lay upon the floor. 
 
 Gabriel threw the pistol beside her and, in com- 
 pany with Ananias, rushed from the room and 
 
iS8 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 ran rapidly down the street. Near a crossing 
 they passed a man who was coming towards the 
 Banker's house. 
 
 In the glittering glare of a nearby street lamp 
 they recognized the Bank Examiner. He recog- 
 nized them, too, but beneath the cover of the 
 night they were soon far from possible pur- 
 suers. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ ^ :|c :|c :)( 
 
 The Coroner's Jury summoned to hold an in- 
 quest over the Banker's body reported : 
 
 "We find that Hector MacDonald came to his 
 death from a pistol-shot wound at the hands of 
 one Gabriel Allen." 
 
 The conclusion was reached by the jury on 
 evidence given by the State Bank Examiner and 
 the merchant who had sold Gabriel Allen a pistol 
 and cartridges. It was further substantiated by 
 the Register of Deeds, who swore that Gabriel 
 had purchased a marriage license the evening be- 
 fore the tragedy. 
 
 Neither Gabriel nor Ananias Blake could be 
 found. 
 
 Maxine was therefore fully exonerated from 
 even a suspicion of complicity in the crime, it 
 being generally known that she had repeatedly 
 refused to marry Gabriel. 
 
 A careful examination of the bank revealed 
 the fact that Doctor Allen and other large de- 
 positors had been robbed of all they had on 
 deposit. 
 
 The Doctor was almost beside himself with 
 rage. He had recently deposited a large stun, 
 
The Girdle of the Great 189 
 
 having mortgaged Rocky Heights to buy a valu- 
 able body of timber land, which he meant to sell 
 to a syndicate. The owner of the land was down 
 South on business and Doctor Allen had merely 
 deposited the money for safe-keeping. 
 
 The mortgage on Rocky Heights was held by 
 a crusty old miser who would certainly foreclose. 
 The Doctor discovered later that the Brandon 
 Place had been "salted," and possessed no gold- 
 bearing quartz at all. He was eventually forced 
 to give up Rocky Heights and move to Anson- 
 ville, where he spent the remainder of his days 
 in a little tenement house. 
 
 Shortly after the Banker's burial Maxine had 
 received a letter from Major Graves, urging her 
 to come to New York and make her home with 
 him. His house was kept by a maiden sister — 
 a most companionable woman, despite her spin- 
 stership — and Maxine consented to go. 
 
 It was not without a severe struggle, however, 
 that she turned her face from the South. It was 
 doubly dear to her — her birthplace and birth- 
 right. Moreover, it was the land of his hope. 
 Fate had been cruel to her — had by unusual cir- 
 cumstances plucked from her the idol of her 
 soul. 
 
 Very sadly she packed her trunks, lingering 
 over every little faded flower, every little keep- 
 sake, bedewing them with tears. 
 
 Major Graves met her at the station. "So 
 you've given up your Southern sweetheart to be 
 a Yankee girl!" he laughed when they were 
 seated in his carriage. 
 
IQO The Girdle of the Great 
 
 "Oh, no; he gave me up," she sighed, striving 
 hard to look unconcerned. 
 
 Must she tell the kind old Major of her sor- 
 row? He was so tenderly sympathetic always. 
 No, she would not tell him. He was getting too 
 old to bear added burdens. She would not con- 
 fide in him — yet. 
 
 "Where is Jerome?" the Major queried, look- 
 ing innocently at Maxine. 
 
 "Indeed, I do not know, Major Graves," she 
 replied with a half pleading expression in her 
 face. 
 
 She gave a sigh of relief when she reached the 
 Major's residence and was shown to her room. 
 
 Some time later she was ushered into the 
 parlor, a large, cool room, more elegant and at- 
 tractive than anything she had ever seen. Her 
 heart throbbed painfully as her eyes fell upon a 
 
 life-size photograph of Jerome. 
 
 * * * * * * * 
 
 "Well, what do you think of the city now?" 
 asked the Major, as a handsome young man en- 
 tered the hall door. (The Major had been pa- 
 tiently lying in wait.) 
 
 "Really, Major," the young man returned 
 moodily, "I found nothing in it to interest me — 
 absolutely nothing." 
 
 "Eh! no pretty women?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Come on, then," continued the Major, taking 
 him by the arm, "I want to introduce you to a 
 young lady friend of mine. And if she doesn't 
 interest you I'll give you my sugar refinery." 
 
The Girdle of the Great 191 
 
 "I am not hunting anything sweet like" — be- 
 fore he could finish the sentence he was in the 
 parlor, the Major having pushed him forward 
 and shut him in. 
 
 With a little cry of surprise and delight Max- 
 ine rose and came forward. 
 
 Jerom.e stared at her coldly. "What does this 
 mean?" he said harshly. "Is this some cruel jest 
 you seek to play upon me? Is Gabriel — is your 
 husband here, madam?" 
 
 "I do not understand you," she cried, falling 
 back a pace. "Do you think I would marry 
 that earth-scum? If you do you are unwelcome 
 in my presence. If you had not been so hasty 
 you might have learned why I was with him on 
 the day of your return from college. I could 
 not refuse the request of his dying sister. There 
 was no other way for me to go. I " 
 
 Jerome sprang quickly forward and smothered 
 the sentence in the sheltering circlet of his strong 
 arms. "My own Maxine, my darling!" he 
 breathed, kissing her rose-red lips, "forgive me, 
 and I will never again misjudge you. And now 
 that I ask you what never before you would per- 
 mit me to ask you — to be my wife — what is your 
 answer ?" 
 
 She was silent, resting her fair head contented- 
 ly upon his broad bosom. 
 
 "How shall I know that you love me, Maxine?" 
 he continued impatiently. 
 
 For answer she clasped her soft white arms 
 about his neck and slowly drew his lips down to 
 hers. 
 
192 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 A radiant glow shone in her face. A Hght, soft 
 as that which kisses a summer sea, stole into the 
 depths of her blue eyes and faded not again. 
 And it was as if the ancient scholar had seen the 
 travail of his soul and been satisfied. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 193 
 
 ' EPILOGUE. 
 
 A master hand has touched and transformed 
 the estate of River wood. On every side one sees 
 unmistakable signs of prosperity and progress. 
 Never before have its broad acres been so pro- 
 ductive — a mute but mighty testimony to the 
 value of the scientific farming typical of a new 
 and greater South. 
 
 But time — the great driving wheel of the cen- 
 turies — has not yet crushed the heart of the old 
 mansion. It stands, as it did of yore, stately and 
 grand, amid its mighty oaks, like a battle-driven 
 warrior amid his old guard, frowning down upon 
 the glittering vanguard of a new and stronger 
 generation. 
 
 The Colonel, too, like his ancient habitation, 
 yet preserves the courtly customs and princely 
 dignity of the olden days. His heart is with the 
 Old South, and his dreams are of the past. 
 
 Often now, as old men will, he sits dozing in 
 the warm golden light which floods his wide 
 veranda. Sometimes he will start suddenly, fling 
 back his fine old Bourbon head, square his broad 
 shoulders, and springing to his feet, stand for a 
 moment "at attention," the fires of '61 leaping 
 in his blue eyes. Then, as the familiar figure of 
 an aged negro, wrinkled, worn and bent, ap- 
 proaches him softly, hat in hand, with the studied 
 
194 
 
 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 dignity of the ante-bellum slave, he will smile and 
 murmur sadly: "Ah, Sam, I was dreaming of 
 General Lee. We are getting old, Sam, old fel- 
 low ; we're getting old and fogy, you and I. 
 We're behind the times. They're too fast for us, 
 Sam. But we'll soon be gone." 
 
 An ill-concealed note, half of longing and half 
 of joy, lingers in the last words, and it is not lost 
 upon the former slave. 
 
 "Yas, IMarse Bob," he replies in a thin, child- 
 like treble, "we'se sho' nuf gittin' ole. An' ef we 
 do'n' hurry an' git out'n dis heah worl', we'se 
 gwiner git run ovah by er — by er — snortermobile. 
 Ev'thing is sho' changed 'roun'. De bottum rail's 
 on de top an' de top rail on de bottum. Yassir, 
 ev'n de niggers ain' lak dey uster be. Dey's all 
 lef de country an' gone ter town, an' dey's all 
 studyin' fer ter dodge Ole Man *W'uk. An' I 
 sho' hopes Gin'ul Booker Washington '11 larn 'em 
 somethin' 'bout 'dustrul eddication. De only 
 dust dey raises dese days is de dust dey raises 
 wid dey heels w'en dey's leavin' de fa'm. Cla'r 
 ter grashus, Marse Bob, I'se mos' 'feard I'll 
 wake up wun no dese mo'nin's an' fin' mase'f 
 whitewashed." 
 
 But when the time draws near for Major 
 Graves' annual visit to Riverwood, the Colonel 
 seems imbued with the elixir vitcB of the olden 
 days. 
 
 It is on the long winter nights, when a won- 
 derful fire of oak logs roars merrily in the quaint, 
 wide fireplace, that the graybeards are in their 
 
 *Work. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 195 
 
 glory. Then they sit for hours smoking and 
 "swapping yarns." And as the conversation 
 drifts back into the days of auld lang syne (for 
 old men are reminiscent or nothing), the ghosts 
 of departed glory seem to take form from fancy 
 and the filmy blue wreaths of smoke, and to live 
 again. 
 
 Between the two friends the years have forged 
 still stronger links of love. Jerome's and Max- 
 ine's children call them grandfather alike, and in 
 the presence of this new generation all the bitter- 
 ness of the past merges and melts into one com- 
 mon country and one common cause. , 
 
 The old ferry has gone from the Pee Dee. A 
 magnificent iron bridge has supplanted it, and 
 one will call in vain for Jeffries. But he may be 
 seen almost any day riding through the great 
 estate of Riverwood, of which he is the vigilant 
 and capable overseer. He says, "Riverwood's 
 jist gotter be the banner plantation in the South, 
 because Romey Watkins give up a chance ter be 
 governor an' senator ter come back there." 
 
 Another sound — the rush and roar of flying 
 spindles — has supplanted the thunderous boom 
 of the river. This mill, which has more spindles 
 than any mill in the South, has come to crown 
 with reality of assured success the so-called idle 
 dream of a country youth. 
 
 This mill, too, is a model of its kind. In it the 
 crime of child labor has never been committed. 
 The President, who is a man of courage-colored 
 convictions, says it never shall be. Quite recently 
 the legislature of his State voiced its hearty ap- 
 
196 The Girdle of the Great 
 
 proval of his course by enacting a humane and 
 much-needed child-labor law. 
 
 The President of the mill is what is called in 
 the South a "stickler" for skilled labor. He be- 
 lieves with all his soul that skilled labor is as 
 much the product of mind as of muscle. He has 
 therefore arranged for his operatives to enjoy 
 exceptional advantages of study and self -culture. 
 Also he knows his employees by name, and takes 
 a personal interest in their welfare. By this 
 means he has been enabled to check the drift to 
 other mills. His mill is sometimes laughingly re- 
 ferred to as the "Utopia Mill," but its output, 
 both as regards quantity and quality, is second to 
 none in the South. The contented condition of 
 its operatives is in manufacturing circles a matter 
 of common knowledge. 
 
 The ruling genius of all this progress is still 
 a young man. Tall, sinewy, straight as an Indian, 
 with a gleam of good humor in his dark eyes to 
 soften the sternness of his strong, square chin, 
 he looks the captain of industry that he is. He is 
 master of every detail of his business. He seems 
 a dynamo of tireless energy. Major Graves, one 
 of the directors of the mill, sometimes calls him 
 a "Southern Yankee." At any rate, he keeps his 
 hand upon the throttle of a great opportunity, 
 and his face to the future. 
 
 His friends sometimes call him a crank. With- 
 out an equal on the hustings, he has arisen 
 clarion-voiced in great crises and called his 
 people to victory, then retired modestly as a 
 woman to his plantation, where, Cinginnatus like, 
 he resumed his labors. 
 
The Girdle of the Great 197 
 
 The State, in her great industrial and intellec- 
 tual awakening, has offered him her highest seat 
 of honor, but he has not heard with the alacrity 
 of the professional politician whose ears are tall 
 enough to catch the slightest sound. Perhaps he 
 will never hear. Perhaps he loves the field and 
 factory too well to exchange them for the toga 
 and toothpick of a senator. 
 
 But there is one call that he dares not, cares 
 not, disobey. It is a call that he longs for, listens 
 for, as anxiously, as ardently, as any lover. It is 
 when Maxine, his wife, the soul of his success, 
 calls in a voice, silvery and sweet as of yore : 
 "Come, Jerome, dear; you're all tired out. Let 
 us walk home through the fields." 
 
 END. 
 
Sam S. & Lee Shubert 
 
 direct the following theatres and theatrical 
 attractions in America : 
 
 Hippodrome, Lyric, Casino, 
 DaljB, Lew Fields, Herald 
 Square and Princess Thea- 
 tres, New York. 
 
 Garrick Theatre, Chicago. 
 
 Lyric Theatre, Philadelphia. 
 
 Shubert Theatre, Brooklyn. 
 
 Belasco Theatre, Washing- 
 ton. 
 
 Belasco Theatre, Pittsburg. 
 
 Shubert Theatre, Newark. 
 
 Shubert Theatre, Utica. 
 
 Grand Opera House, Syra- 
 ciise. 
 
 Baker Theatre, Rochester. 
 
 Opera Hou^e, Providence. 
 
 Worcester Theatre, Worces- 
 ter. 
 
 Hyperion Theatre, New 
 Haven. 
 
 Lyceum Theatre, Buffalo. 
 
 Colonial Theatre, Cleveland. 
 
 Rand't Opera House, Troy, 
 
 Garrick Theatre, St, Louis, 
 
 Sam S, Shubert Theatre, 
 Norfolk, Va. 
 
 Shubert Theatre, Columbus, 
 
 Lyric, Cincinnati, 
 
 Mary Anderson Theatre, 
 Louisville. 
 
 New Theatre, Richmond, 
 Va. 
 
 New Theatre, Lexington, Ky. 
 
 New Theatre, Mobile. 
 
 New Theatre, Atlanta. 
 
 Shubert Theatre, Milwau- 
 kee. 
 
 Lyric Theatre, New Orleans. 
 
 New Marlowe Theatre, 
 Chattanooga. 
 
 New Theatre, Detroit, 
 
 Grand Opera House, Dav- 
 enport, Iowa. 
 
 New Theatre, Toronto," 
 
 New Sothern Theatre, Den- 
 ver, 
 
 Sam S. Shubert Theatre, 
 Kansas City. 
 
 Majestic Theatre, Los An- 
 geles, 
 
 Belasco Theatre, Portland. 
 
 Shubert Theatre, Seattle. 
 
 Majestic Theatre, San Fran- 
 cisco. 
 
 E. H. Sothern & Julia Mar- 
 lowe in repertoire. 
 
Margaret Anglin and Hemy 
 Miller. 
 
 Virginia Harned. 
 
 Mary Mannering in " Glori- 
 ous Betsy." 
 
 Mme. Alia Nazimova. 
 
 Thos. W. Ross in "The 
 Other Girl." 
 
 Cecelia Loftus. 
 
 Clara Bloodgood. 
 
 Blanche King. 
 
 Alexander Carr. 
 
 Digby Bell. 
 
 "The Girl Behind the 
 Counter." 
 
 "The Light Eternal.» 
 
 "The Snow Man." 
 
 Blanche Bates in " The Girl 
 from the Golden West." 
 
 Darid Warfield in "The 
 
 Music Master." 
 " The Rose of the Rancho," 
 
 with Rose Starr. 
 
 Harrison Gray Piskb's 
 Attractions. 
 
 Mrs. Fiske in "The New 
 York Idea." 
 
 * Shore Acres." 
 
 Louis Mann in "The White 
 Hen." 
 
 "The Road to Yesterday." 
 
 Henry Woodrufif in " Brown 
 of Harvard." 
 
 "The Secret Orchard," by 
 Channing Pollock. 
 
 De Wolf Hopper in "Hap- 
 py land." 
 
 Eddie Foy in " The Orchid." 
 
 Marguerite Clark, in a new 
 opera. 
 
 "The Social Whirl," with 
 Chas. J. Ross. 
 
 James T. Powers in "The 
 Blue Moon." 
 
 Bertha Kalich. 
 "Leah Kleschna." 
 
 "The Man on the Box." 
 
 Cyril Scott in " The Prince 
 Chap." ' 
 
 " Mrs. Temple's Telegram." 
 
 " The Three of Us." 
 
 ^ 
 
 You cannot go wrong in selecting one of 
 tliese play-houses for an evening's entertain- 
 ment in whatever city you may happen to be. 
 
 iisssa